


A Targaryen Dynasty

by BlackRose999, Longclaw_1_6



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boatbaby (Game of Thrones), Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Rhaegal Lives (ASoIaF), Rhaenys Targaryen Lives, Smut, Targaryen Restoration, Targlings (ASoIaF), fuck D&D, fuck season 8
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:40:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 65,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26169577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackRose999/pseuds/BlackRose999, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Longclaw_1_6/pseuds/Longclaw_1_6
Summary: What if Jon Snow had never killed Daenerys? What if Rhaegal hadn't died, and they were allowed life as the powerful Dragon Monarchs the world revered them for? Would they flourish as peaceful, powerful rulers of Westeros, or would the sins of their past swallow them whole?
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 200
Kudos: 178





	1. Chapter One: Musings of Madness

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing, all credit goes to George R. R. Martin.

Hey guys! I'm ready for anything! I figured I'd start a new story with my oh-so-awesome Collaborator Longclaw1-6, who has also amazingly offered to Beta-read my chapters for me! Say hi and give him a look, his stories are what inspired me to try my own GOT fic! But as always, I own nothing. All rights belong to George R.R. Martin and his wonderful books!

Have a great read ladies and gents!

Love: BlackRose999

In the dark of night, slender fingers danced over ghostly bare skin, combed through the woman's silver hair, and washed the blood from her ruined belly. They touched and cleaned and soothed the flesh while prayers filled the air. The words came from a dark-haired beauty, a glowing red necklace around her perfect throat. Her maroon robe dragged lightly behind her as she walked, the loose fabric draping elegantly over her arms as she touched the Mother of Dragons.

Kinvara had been woken from her slumber by a cry of pure agony, a bellowing roar of heartbreak and fear. When she had gone to investigate, she knew in her heart why her Lord had brought a being of Fire to her. The woman clasped so gently and carefully in Drogon's massive claws was someone she had met only briefly, but remembered well. And her heart cried when she saw the blood that had dried around the blade in her belly, had she not known anything about this woman, she would have mourned with the beast and sent it away. She would not be here in the Heart of R'hllor's Temple praying for the gift of life, while the amber eyes of Daenerys's dragon watched her intently.

Her prayers fell effortlessly off her tongue, the hours passing by like minutes. Finally, she felt it, the rush of blood to her head, a gasp of air in silent lungs, and the feeling of joy filling her body like liquor on an empty stomach. Jade-colored eyes fell on startled orbs, eyes that seemed a little bluer now than violet. A smile came to her, unadulterated joy lighting up her face.

"Muña Zaldrīzoti, ao've māzigon arlī naejot īlva rȳ mōrī!"

Violet eyes snapped open and took in the sight of the burning castle and the smell of singed bodies. For a moment, she was horrified and disgusted by the casualties around her. But only for a moment. Then, her mind reminds her of Cersei's cruelties and the city that reeked of shit, and suddenly she was as distant and guarded as before. She spared a thought for the dead, the innocence of children lost to death this day and the lives that were ruined by burning rubble and dragon flame. She would apologize for this, placate the smallfolk with promises of change and loving rule. Gods would this place change under her rule. She could see it now, the keep with flowers everywhere, red roses and black Firelillies, every petal a memory of home and what Viserys had told her the keep was before they were hurried from their mother's arms.

Once the traitor Tyrion had been dealt with, she began ascending the steps to the keep, her heart heavy with hurt and betrayal. First Jon, now Varys, now Tyrion. Poor Daenerys, she thought grimly, men will forever disappoint you. None live like the Selfless Knight of The Andals and your Sun and Stars…. Shaking those thoughts from her head, she found herself before the Iron Throne, staring at the ugly thing that had meant the world to her. Now she finds herself beginning to empty, the feeling of horror starting to sink in as her mind struggles to accept the bloodshed she'd brought onto the world. Then she remembers Missandei, and Grey Worm's face when the love of his life was beheaded by the Mad Queen.

But now what does she do? The Mad Queen is dead, gone, and no one is left to shoulder her leftover pain and wrath. Footsteps came up behind her, and a sense of knowing came over her, Jon stood behind her. And he was angry, he radiated it like water radiated cold. She opened her mouth to speak, to placate him, but only got a few words in before he cut her off.

"When I was a girl, my brother-"

"I saw them executing Lannister men in the streets… They said they were acting on your orders."

She pauses, feeling like he was vilifying her, like she was some monster who shouldn't be allowed to live. "It was necessary-" "Necessary? Have you been down there? Have you seen it? Children, little children BURNED Daenerys!" She feels herself taking a step back from his anger, and for a moment her only emotion is uncertainty, had she done the right thing? "I tried to make peace with Cersei, she used their innocence as a weapon against me!"

"And Tyrion? What did he do to you that warrants a death sentence?"

She flinched at his tone, another feeling of dread filling her as his anger intensified, what on earth was going on? She was the queen! She ruled over HIM! Why did she cower like a whipped dog now when he sounded so angry with her? "He conspired with my enemies behind my back, how have you treated others who've done the same to you?" She challenged and saw his eyes soften with hope.

"Forgive him."

Shock filled her, then she murmured "I can't." Wait, why couldn't she?

"You can, forgive them all, make them see they've made a mistake…. Please Dany."

Dany. She hadn't been called that by him in so long, her body began to heat as she remembered the last time he'd called her 'Dany' while pressed tight against her.

"I can't hide behind small mercies, Jon…"

"You aren't, our world has to be one of mercy, it needs to be after all the shit we've grown up in and waded through to bring a new dawn to the world. Your dream is a reality now, now make sure theirs is too! Like you promised them so long ago on the shores of Astapor, and again in every sacked city you set free!"

Daenerys feels something wrench free inside her, and suddenly it's all too much. Too much death, destruction, and pain in her body and mind. She keels over, retching into the ground as she vomits blood into the perfect snow. A cry of pain echoed in her ears as Drogon reached his head to her, their link warning him something was wrong. Jon watched with shock as Drogon coos at his mother, gently nudging her as much as he can to fix her. His small cries of fear and distress making Jon marvel at the way the dragon loved her, the silence then startles him to look at Daenerys, who looked furious, then her eyes meet his. They were a blue-violet that he'd never seen before, and they looked clearer than they had for months.

"Dracarys!"

Drogon's maw opened and his jet of flame billowed out at him, but it didn't hit him. He braved the heat to see the Black Dread Reborn burning the throne, and his heart lifted.

"DRACARYS!"

Daenerys cried out again, tears streaming down her face as she screamed at Drogon, his fire melting the throne to nothing, taking with it her obsession and madness. When the throne was gone, she looked at Jon and cried harder, "Kill me! Gods what have I done! I've murdered thousands! I KILLED CHILDREN JON!" She vomited again, more blood spilling into the perfect white of the snow under her, and he worried over why she vomited blood and not bile. Then he understood, she expelled the toxic madness she'd allowed to control her to kill Cersei with a clear mind, she expelled the bile of her mind and the ruin of her soul. She cleansed herself with the expelling of blood.

And all that blood… all that poison infesting her system… it had been him that led to this. His own form of madness, the woman that was his world suffering before him, and yet he was too consumed with his brooding shit to notice or care. 'Dear Gods, what have I done…' Jon knew he deserved to die, but not even self-loathing could stop him from going to her.

Jon only made it a few steps before Drogon stared at him, teeth bared. He stopped, but didn't remain silent. "Daenerys, stop! Listen to yourself! You don't need to die, you need to make it right, you need to fix the wrong you committed, save yourself by saving them! You are my Queen, now and always, now be theirs!"

Drogon watched as Dany forced herself up, lurching unsteadily as she hurried to the doors, and as she stumbled he caught her with his massive head, letting her lean on him. Jon took her arm and pulled her off Drogon, letting her use his body as a crutch.

"STOP! I COMMAND THE KILLING TO STOP!"

Her voice rang out like clear bells in his soul, and he was relieved to see soldiers stopping their swings mid-strike. "I command the killing to stop immediately, it's wrong. I was wrong."

"Issi ao, Muña Zaldrīzoti?"

"Iksan, ivestragī se Lānistor vali dāez, pōnta daor sagon ossēnagon syt issare se pirta brōzi."

Jon kept her steady, holding her by the waist so tightly he feared he might hurt her. He loved her, he worshipped her, and he had almost allowed himself to kill her. This white-haired goddess among men held his soul and his heart in her dainty hands, and he'd almost broken them all with one stupid move.

"Dany I… I need to tell you something."

"I know." Tired, she nevertheless reached to touch his cheek the moment they were shrouded by the ruins – only each other to see their intimacy. "I love you too, be with me. Help me keep this throne and rule our people together. Help me stay Daenerys Stormborn, and keep me from being the next Mad Queen."

Jon nearly choked, he wanted so badly to love her free of all the shit in the world, but he felt an indescribable pain when he tried to tell her what he had planned to do to her not two minutes ago – what he thought he had to do… a duty Tyrion poisoned his mind with. He was broken, burned, and ruined, but gods did he love her. She touched his cheek lovingly, and for a moment, he felt nothing but peace. "I love you. But I almost killed you." The words spilled out of his mouth without his permission, and the shock-hurt-betrayal-pain-HURT that flitted across her perfect face nearly crippled him, and as he reached for her she pushed herself away from him.

"You… You were going to kill me Jon?"

"Aye. You were gone, Daenerys, gone from my life and I couldn't find you anymore, the woman I loved on that ship was gone. Replaced by a broken soul and a murderous mind. I was going to kill us both…"

Tears dripped down her face, he was going to kill her, how could she trust him now? The answer came as a passing thought. You trust him because he loves you first, and he was going to kill the monster she'd made you. You killed Children Dany, not just men and women, children. Would you want that as your life? Surprising herself, she grabbed him and kissed him. Holding him to her as he fought to push her away, as though her touch burned him.

"Stop it, Jon! I forgive you!"

He stilled, and watched her with shocked eyes and a hopeful demeanor. How could she forgive him? How could she love him after he told her he was going to kill her?

"How? How can you forgive me Daenerys?"

"Because I was lost, ruled by cold and hate. I was Cersei. I was… my father." Weak, it was only his touch that steadied her… in more ways than one. "I'd have killed me too. You promised once upon a time to tell me when I was failing the people, and you tried, and I couldn't see it. So yes, kill me when I get bad. Kill me over and over again until you get through. I don't mind."

He cried, he broke down and fell to his knees in front of her guards. Pressing himself into her as she petted his hair, running her fingers through the silken locks and sending shivers down his spine. This woman was his everything, his weakness, his loyalty, his heart and soul, and would eventually be his undoing. But for her, he'd brave the storm. A thought caused him to still, his tears drying as horror filled him.

"Where's Rhaegal? I saw Drogon but not Rhaegal."

Pain filled her face, thinking of the arrow that had hit his chest and the one that had bounced off his throat, nearly killing him.

"Resting, he was injured. He tried to follow from Dragonstone to help me, but Drogon made him land outside the walls and rest. The scorpions were too much…"

A sense of purpose filled him, as though he knew what he needed to do, as though he understood her pain on a personal level as well. He asked to see the green dragon, and when she brought him to the great beast, his heart broke again. Blood pooled around him, as the massive bolt had yet to be pulled to heal properly since nobody else could get to him. Daenerys moved to pull the rod from his breast but was shocked when he snapped his teeth inches from her nose.

"RHAEGAL! What do you think you're doing!? THAT'S YOUR MOTHER!"

The great green beast looked at him with what could only be described as amusement, as though the thought of the raven-haired northman ordering him around was funny. Jon was in no mood for comedy. He stalked up and smacked Rhaegal's nose as hard as he could, which was followed by Rhaegal billowing a puff of irritated air at him. Jon steadied himself against a wall of air that threatened to blow him over, then smacked him again.

"You will not snap at her! Now stop acting like a child and hold still!"

Rhaegal huffed and mewled what Jon believed to be an apology at Daenerys, who lovingly petted his head. Jon turned to Daenerys, a soft smile on his face.

"What of Tyrion? He only tried to save you…"

"He tried to kill me Jon, and like it or not he did so publicly. Not like you did, you I can forgive because I love you and I need you. I can't allow him to live after he plotted with Varys to kill me… I'm sorry. But my decision is final."

"Daenerys don't-"

"No, you don't. I must remain resolute in the eyes of our people, I can't change my mind on a whim like some flippant woman, they need to see strength, compassion and honesty. I ordered his death, he will die."

Jon looked at the woman before him, noting the blue of her eyes and the steel of her spine, she bore no hint of madness now, but she had a point. Sighing, he resolved to take the burden from her.

"Then let me do it. He deserves better than the axe, Varys manipulated him too. He won't choose poison and he doesn't need to be burned as a spectacle. Mix the snow and the fire Dany, let it balance each other out."

The truth of his words rang through her like bells, and suddenly she understood why Targaryens needed more than one in the world. Their dragonblood brought greatness and might, but the power of gods left them vulnerable. Without another… there was no equal to a dragon, and that power drove them to madness. Two Targaryens balanced the scales, balanced the madness and kept it at bay.

Jon seemed to understand the same, as he recalled Maester Aemon's words. 'A Targaryen, alone in the world, is a terrible thing.' He touched her face, marveling at the way she turned her face into his palm, and smiled. It was time he accepted his birthright.

"I, Aegon Targaryen, seventh of my name, proclaim my love and my fealty to you. I want to keep you safe, I want to keep you by my side, now and always. Let me love you, let me lead with you as your friend and lover or even if you wish as a husband. Just let me love you... Please."

Translations:

"Mother of Dragons, you come back to us at last!" - "Muña Zaldrīzoti, ao've māzigon arlī naejot īlva rȳ mōrī!"

"Are you sure, Mother of Dragons?" - "Issi ao, Muña Zaldrīzoti?"

"I am sure, let the Lannister men free, they shouldn't be punished for being given the wrong name." - "Iksan, ivestragī se Lānistor vali dāez, pōnta daor sagon ossēnagon syt issare se pirta brōzi."

So what did you guys think? Any ideas you'd like to see added in? Feel free to R&R and let me know! No ideas are bad ideas, so don't be scared to add your input!

Love you all!


	2. Chapter Two: Sensual Submissions

Hey guys, sorry for the long wait. But here is the next chapter as promised, and remember to thank the wonderful Longclaw1-6 for his collaboration and his help! Without him, I'm sure my story would suck! XD

But anyway, let me know what you think and as always, remember to R&R!

Love you all!

The night was moonless, the sky lit only by the stars. Such beautiful silence through the still standing Maegor's Holdfast, it was only shattered by the guttural moans of a woman lost to the pleasures of life. Daenerys had never experienced this type of pleasure before, not with her Sun and Stars, not with Daario Naharis. It was burning, tingling, all-consuming perfection that she'd never once believed to be possible. But such was her passion with Jon Snow… her nephew. They shared it in the boat, they shared it at the waterfall, and now – after so long – they shared it again. By the grace of the gods, he was all hers again.

With the city collapsed into a lull they'd snuck off. Hidden amongst the King's Chambers hastily stripped of all Lannister decor, the two lovers held each other with such passion that time around them seemed to freeze in place. Jon kissed her with such devotion that it brought her to near tears, to be loved so completely by one who lived for her filled her soul and pushed back the remainder of her sorrow. Pushed aside reality for a blissful cocoon she greatly needed.

Daenerys shuddered as he touched her breasts, moving the mounds and toying with her nipple. He wasn't even inside her yet and she already begged, needed, yearned for him. When it grew too much… when the demand of her body finally urged him on, he filled her with one thrust and watched her buck impatiently against his hips. Her head lolled, her eyes half-lidded and so full of pleasure he nearly came right then and there just thinking of what he was doing to her.

Comporting himself, he began his harsh pace and grinned as the dragon in her woke. Her nails dug mercilessly into his flesh, but he didn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything but the slick walls surrounding his cock and the feel of her skin against his, and when he felt her clamp down around him, he pushed forward one last time and filled her again with his seed.

For a moment they stayed that way, blissfully unaware of the world around them, uncaring of the smell of burned bodies and the icy winds that made their skin prickle. They laid there, amidst the ruins of the Red Keep and their discarded clothing, and simply breathed.

"I'm never going to get enough of you…" Jon breathed against her skin. Unafraid of the feelings he had for her. "I'm never going to get over what you do to me with just a single look. You'll be the death of me, Dany."

Her eyes found his. "There it is again... Dany."

Jon stilled, looking worriedly over at the quiet form of his queen. His heart broke, remembering what she'd told him of her brother and his usage of the shortened name when he manipulated her or brutalized her. Jon remembering the fact that her brother had sold her to be raped and bred like a prized horse. He suddenly understood that the name might be too much for her.

"Did I hurt you? Is the name too much love?"

She smiled at him, touching his cheek lovingly and ignoring the shiver of cold delight that danced up her spine. She was touched that he worried for her so, happiness lighting up her face as she kissed him. They had endured so much but ended back where they belonged. Together.

"Don't. I'm fine, I don't need to be coddled. A name is a name, nothing more." She sighed. "But from you, it breathes new life into it. New memories to replace the old and battered ones of a scared little girl in strange lands."

Dual trumpeting roars of rage shattered the night, waking all and bringing an end to their cuddling. Frantically throwing on clothes, Daenerys rushed passed the few Unsullied guarding the inner courtyard to her children, the two dragons nesting in the ruins and guarding the keep snarling and snapping at the air. When she reached the throne room, she was startled to see the familiar form of Kinvara. The raven-haired woman was smiling at the dragons, hand reaching out to touch Rhaegal's snout.

"DON'T!"

Rhaegal snarled and opened his massive jaw to belt out a burst of flame, but the fire never came. Rhaegal instead looked perplexed, and again opened his mouth to breathe his fire, but none came. Roaring in rage, he snapped at her, his teeth coming inches from her nose.

"Keligon sir, tresy hen perzys. Nyke māzigon naejot ȳdragon lēda aōha muña, daor naejot ōdrikagon zirȳla."

Both dragons stilled, their soft mewling chirps filling the air. Kinvara made her way up the steps to the dumbstruck Daenerys, where she bowed gracefully and coyly. "Nice to see you again, Mother of Dragons. I see you are well."

"I- Why wouldn't I be?"

"I saw your death in the flames. I came as quickly as I could but I see my assistance wasn't required… I see a great future ahead of you Daenerys Targaryen, and you Aegon Targaryen. I cannot allow your life to be snuffed out so callously. Not after you've already been poisoned."

Daenerys froze, rage filling her. Her hands clenched, fingernails biting mercilessly into her flesh. Jon watched her, watched her clench and fold up her anger like a blanket, and noted the ease she exhibited in putting it away. He worried over this, knowing she'd be furious later. Kinvara touched Daenerys's face, turning it this way and that. Her emerald eyes carefully noting every discrepancy with how she'd looked upon their first meeting, marking the changes mentally.

"I suspect Lord Varys was the one to poison you, he knew about specific poisons. Especially Basilisk Blood, which the only known cure for is bloodletting. A dangerous practice."

Jon stilled, remembering her earlier vomiting of blood. And seeing the look of horror on Dany's face, he could tell she remembered it too. Kinvara looked back and forth, noticing the looks of memory and horror. "Dany… you were poisoned?"

Looking up at him, Daenerys could see the pain in his eyes. The sorrow, the regret. "Yes. Such is why I executed him, Jon, though I live from not being able to eat the food he had his little birds sprinkle in the uneaten meals." Watching her love tear himself apart, she took his hand in hers. "There was nothing you could have done."

"I could have listened to you…" Sansa… she must have broken her vow. "I could have not been just a northern fool."

While it broke her heart to see him suffer so, Kinvara's voice drew Dany's attention. "I see those looks, something you'd like to tell me?"

"I vomited blood yesterday… A lot of blood. It looked reddish-black, like dark wine."

Kinvara looked angry… angry and scared. Inwardly, she cursed Varys. She cursed the whispering man and the cunning, ruthless plans he created. She looked from Jon to Daenerys, then back again, weighing the decision to come clean. Sighing, she finally met Daenerys's eyes.

"You had a vision in the flames of the palace… Didn't you?"

Daenerys looked surprised, then concerned. Her mind traveled back to when she'd had the daydream while staring at the debris around her, only now realizing they'd been ablaze.

"I-I believe so. What of it?"

"I prayed for it. I begged and prayed for R'hllor to show you your future, to show you before you went wrong and my future came true… I was selfish in that. I didn't want to die."

Jon broke in now, confused about what the other Red Woman was talking about. Suddenly desperate to reassure himself that Daenerys was still there, he found himself wrapping his arm around her waist. Her dainty hand clasped the top of his, gently rubbing the skin with her thumb.

"What do you mean? Why would you die if Daenerys had died last night?"

Kinvara looked troubled but explained.

"Should Daenerys of House Targaryen die… my end would come too. Eventually. I'm not sure how, but my vision showed me death by water. Not by fire like I might expect, or like Melisandre's ending." Seeing their confusion and apprehension, she carried on. "The Spider's web of lies and manipulations is over. You have been cleansed of the madness he created, but all is not clear for either of you, Aegon and Daenerys Targaryen."

Jon narrowed his eyes. "It is over. The dead are defeated. Cersei is dead." Gods, he just wanted peace. A moment for him and Daenerys to have some semblance of love and comfort in the shit world they lived in up till now. "There is nothing."

"You're wrong, Aegon of House Targaryen." Kinvara's eyes sparkled a piercing red. "There are still threats. Those of man and those of something far darker than even the Night King. Only the Prince that was Promised can vanquish the darkness – him and his Princess."

Kinvara retired for the night, promising them that she wouldn't be leaving any time soon. And before long, Jon and Dany followed suit, spending the night in each other's arms. Their night was full of soft, quiet lovemaking and gentle touches – desperate to forget the pain of their pasts and ominous threats clouding their future. However, their blissful night was cut short when daylight woke them, lying abed, Jon stroked the bare flesh of Daenerys's breast.

"Dany… We need to discuss Tyrion."

She stilled, her eyes flicking up to Jon's warily. She was annoyed - he was ruining this moment now by talking about the traitor's minion. He knew she was irritated, he could feel it like a spider crawling dangerously across his skin. Her anger could be dangerous, volatile even, but he trusted that she wouldn't expel any of it onto him.

If anything, he was one of the few that should broach such subjects to her.

"I told you… I want his execution. Publicly if available. He has to die Jon… He tried to kill me, misguided as he was he tried. And failed."

"I'm not asking for a pardon my queen, I'm asking to do it myself. Let me kill him like I would if I was Warden of The North. My father, rest his soul, told me once that a man who gives the sentence should swing the sword. I'm giving the sentence too, let me swing the sword."

Dany paused, thinking it over. He was right, a man who gave the sentence should carry it out, but she didn't like the idea of him killing a man he viewed as his friend. Sighing, she came to terms with the fact that he was right. She put on a heavy winter gown, missing Missandei's gentle and nimble fingers. This garment featured a new silver chain, with two dragon heads instead of three, the third she planned to give as a ring to Jon.

Rhaegal was Jon's, through and through. The youngling dragon just had yet to accept it, Drogon had loved and adored her from birth so she'd never had the problem of a rebellious dragon, but Jon was new. He was a newcomer in Rhaegal's life and that dragon had every right to test him, push him into forcing the bond. The bond was everything he needed, and once he accepted who he was, the bond would come to fruition.

"Let's go, it's time I faced him."

Jon held her hand, rubbing her ring finger with his thumb. One day, he'd put his gold band there, and make sure she was loved and worshipped like the fucking goddess she was. Slowly, taking their time, they made their way to the Black Cells. Unfortunately not destroyed in the inferno, had its own smell, a putrid, rotting, acrid stench that coated the person's throat and made tasting anything but the air impossible – that overpowered the smoke of the city surprisingly enough. It had been three days now, that Tyrion had been locked in the cells. Three days of disgusting food, worse-smelling water that made his stomach clench and his bowels looser than a Meereenese whore, and zero sanitation.

To say he was angry was an understatement. He was furious, absolutely livid. Twice now he'd been stuck in the Black Cells, and apparently each time was meant to be worse than the last. He was shocked however when the white beauty that was Daenerys Targaryen stepped into his cell with Jon Snow at her back. Shit-smeared and ready to throw verbal daggers, he sneered at her.

"Ah, I see Jon didn't kill you after all." Tyrion let out a chuckle, though it held no humor.  
"Shame, Varys would be rolling over in his grave by now if he wasn't ashed to the ground in Dragonstone… He did love to plot that man. Now," He spat through clenched teeth. "To what do I owe this fantastic visit? Is it time for me to be burned alive too?"

Jon stepped forward, his hand on Daenerys's hip. He wasn't going to let the Imp speak to her like that, not if he could help it.

"Enough. She didn't have control of what she was doing, and he deserved it anyway." Jon's fingers tightened – he'd come so close to losing his love to that man, wishing he'd have caved Varys' skull in when he had the chance. "You would have done best to avoid his plots. Fluttering from one ruler to the next so callously. Finding a true cause didn't matter to him. He'd have sold anyone out for more power, even you."

Tyrion shrugged. "I am well aware of that fact, but he was still invaluable. His little birds are everywhere, were key to decimating armies, perfect for locating people, and now they have no master. Now they are useless."

"You don't need them where you're going…"

Daenerys felt her throat close up with pain, suddenly heartbroken with what she was doing. Tyrion had been her friend, her ally, and one of her closest advisors. And now she was being forced to put him to death for his actions against her. Tyrion looked at her with pity, noticing the welling eyes and the broken voice, and remembering her for who she was, his voice softened.

"No I… don't suppose I will."

"Tyrion I-"

"I know… perhaps this is for the best. I did try to kill you after all."

She steeled herself, her heart clenching. "You will die by a blade, not by fire."

He snorted. "A small mercy… and quite apt. My family killed yours by beheading, Jon. It is only fitting that I die in the same manner to end it all." There was a silence as he simply stared at Dany. "For what it's worth, I did support you. I had undying loyalty to you for being as Ser Davos said, 'A just woman.' Just seemed that the one moment you weren't, tens of thousands had to pay the price." Another snort, almost a chuckle. "What a way to end. My only loss is that I won't see how the mummers portray it decades hence."

A dry laugh came from her throat, her heart breaking even more for the loss of her friend and ally. She caressed his cheek, uncaring of the shit-smeared skin there beneath her flawless touch. For a moment, just a moment, she forgave everything he'd done. She forgave and loved him for the man he was when he was her friend, and when the moment was over, her heart soothed and beat again. She and Jon left the cells, holding each other as Dany cried in a tucked away hollow of the castle, knowing the whole world couldn't see their new queen a wreck over the loss of a traitor.

When she was calmer, when her heart didn't break and tremble at the thought of what she was doing, they allowed themselves to continue to the courtyard where the people gathered, anxious to meet the famed – or infamous – Mother of Dragons. The picture of steely poise, Daenerys met her new subjects with a warm, gentle smile and a straight spine. She stood tall, but not looming. She wanted them to love her, to see her as the people of Yunkai, Astapor, and Meereen had despite all that had happened. When they'd called her mysa and held her up like she owned the sky above them.

At their faces, she held out hope that perhaps their hatred of Cersei would overcome whatever she had done… whatever she had been made to do by the machinations of others.

"People of the great city of Aegon's High Hill, of Rhaenys Hill and Visenyas Hill, of Fleabottom. Hear me! I do not come to rule over you, I come to rule with you! I do not come to give you laws that make your lives harder, I come to give laws that make your lives easier, more tolerable." Dany paused, catching her breath. "Under my reign, Kings Landing will be rebuilt, reformed, and reforged into a better place for you and your children's children. Let me show you what a just, honest ruler can be!"

The people that were here likely had some sort of bias in her favor. Those wanting to address or see her having sympathies towards the Targaryens, perhaps also coming from areas not burned in Drogon's path. People willing to allow her to be their Queen in exchange for prosperity, now that she was the only choice left. Cries rang out from around her, and while most hailed her, a great deal called for her head. A voice rang out louder than anyone, a voice of pain and rage.

"You killed my daughter!"

Dany's smile fell, and her eyes locked on an old man, he wore rags of oranges and reds. His feet clad in dirty sandals and his balding head burned by years in the sun, and his blue eyes were filled with nothing but agony.

"You killed my daughter! A girl who hadn't even seen her twentieth nameday! Burned alive outside my front door! What justice is that? She'd done nothing to nobody, and she died in your war! Now… Now, who will help me live? Who will help me make food and laugh with me if not her?" Two small children clung to his legs, trembling in fear. Some directed at her, but Dany and Jon both recognized the most of it – the fear of the unknown, the fear of uncertain survival.

Something altogether common in King's Landing but even more pronounced now.

Daenerys stepped forward, her feet moving her closer to the man who cried out with nothing but pain in his voice, her body moving to automatically right the wrong. She kissed the top of the man's trembling wards and knelt to their level so he could look her in the eyes, holding his hand in hers, she announced quietly.

"I, Daenerys of House Targaryen, will help you live. I will grow your food, I will help you with anything and everything you need. You will live with me in the palace and have as many servants as you need to live a comfortable life. You will never be lonely in your life again, I promise."

The old man sobbed while the children clutched her as if their lives depended on it. She let him hold her, let him cling to her. A touch on her shoulder pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned to find Jon and Grey Worm behind her.

"Shijetra nyke khalēsi , yn mēre hen mentyr mirros ao jorrāelagon naejot ūndegon."

"Drējī? skoros gōntan pōnta?"

"Drōma, khalēsi."

Daenerys paled, then hope sparked so fervently in her eyes that Jon worried about her fainting. He didn't speak High Valyrian, but whatever was spoken was joyful news. Not liking being out of the loop, Jon turned to her and asked quietly "What did he say, Dany?"

"He… He said there are eggs here, in the city. Dragon's eggs."

Translations:

"Stop now, Son of Fire. I come to speak with your mother, not to harm her." - 'Keligon sir, tresy hen perzys. Nyke māzigon naejot ȳdragon lēda aōha muña, daor naejot ōdrikagon zirȳla'

"Forgive me Khaleesi, but one of the soldiers found something you need to see." - "Shijetra nyke ñuha dāria, yn mēre hen mentyr found mirros ao jorrāelagon naejot ūndegon.

"Truly? What did they find?" - "Drējī? skoros gōntan pōnta find?"

"Eggs, Khaleesi." - "Drōma khalēsi."


	3. Chapter Three: Hidden Pasts and Foreseeable Futures

Hey guys, welcome back to Chapter 3 of A Targaryen Dynasty! Sorry it took so long, there was a lot of information to put in before the next few chapters get released... But now that its up please tell me how you feel about the story and what you'd like to see in the upcoming chapters! The next chapter will consist of a long-awaited scene between siblings, and traitors. Anyway, you know the drill, I own nothing. All credit goes to George R.R. Martin for making a wonderful series that Dumb & Dumber butchered so happily!

Love you all and remember to check out Longclaw1-6's works! He's honestly the best collaborator I've ever had!

Love,

BlackRose999

Qyburn's laboratory was dark, the sunlight blocked by thick curtains that refused to allow a speck of sunlight in. With a flick of his wrist, Jon ripped them down. Sunlight poured into the room and illuminated a heavy black chest tucked away in the corner, the ornately carved wooden spectacle held shut by an opened silver lock. Daenerys was kneeling, touching the lid, feeling the metal filigree and spirals etched into the polished wood. Wonder etched itself into her porcelain face, and she wondered what colors these dragons would be. Blues? Reds and Silvers? The thought of a purple dragon made her smile.

"How'd they get it open?"

Jon spoke softly, not wanting to break her from her blissful trance, but sighed when she looked up at him in surprise. As if she'd forgotten he was there. She smiled at him, a smile so pure and joyful that he felt himself relax and smile back, his worries and cares forgotten by the mere sight of her. He brooded so much, worried over everything when in truth they mattered so little, and here she was taking his life and reminding him how to properly live it with one single look.

"They hit it, by the look of the lock."

Daenerys touched the dents and scratches that littered the lock, then gently removed the bolt from the socket. She carefully opened the ornate lid, then gasped. Inside were six eggs of varying colors, red and blue, green and gold, vibrant silver, and deep purple. The eggs were nestled in silks, their petrification process stopped at half the shells. While the lower layer looked like they'd been newly laid, only the bottoms that were dappled with stone showed their true age. Jon looked at them in awe, he'd never seen a dragon egg before and thought they looked better than any cut and polished gem did.

With great effort, Daenerys forced herself not to pick them up and hold them. She knew why they were here – they were for the next line of Targaryens. If she touched them now, they'd never bond with their riders. She ordered them to put the eggs in her chambers, and remembering Jorah's retelling of her brother's attempts at thievery, the guard was doubled to deter any possible deserters.

"Come… Let us begin to rebuild."

The two of them made their way to the throne room, watching the Unsullied shovel the melted throne and clean up the hardened iron. The two of them had agreed to replace the Iron Throne with a set of grand thrones, ornately carved and sculpted with draconic features by master craftsmen. An image of grandeur but not domination. This way, future rulers would rule equally, not with one in perfect dominion over the other. That was not how they wanted their new world to exist.

As they walked through the ruins, Daenerys turned and looked up at Jon. She could feel the turmoil roiling inside her beloved. She could feel the hurt and the fear as easily as the icy breeze on her cheeks. Almost as if he lived and breathed within her soul. Turning to him, she noted his brooding eyes and broken air.

"Jon…? Talk to me, what has you so broken inside?"

He blinked, startled at her bluntness, but quickly recovered and smiled at her. After all that had happened he didn't want to worry her – didn't want to wound her further with his never-ending self-resentment.

"I'm fine Dany, just lost in thought."

She laughed, a soft chuckle that made him want to melt into her touch like ice into the ground. It always surprised him how easily she could make him forgive himself and forget everything but her. Then her expression turned somber, her eyes lovingly gentle.

"Lost in thought, my love? No... just lost." Not ever hiding their affections again, Dany reached up and cupped his cheek. Lovingly stroking the stubbly skin. "Speak with me awhile, let me help you find your way again."

She guided him over to a set of chairs the Unsullied had provided. Temporary thrones that would project humility in a time where it was sorely needed. Her hand made its way into his, and slowly, he began talking.

"I… I don't know who I am anymore." His voice was wary, a sadness in his eyes. Feelings finally let out.

Daenerys stared at him. "What do you mean? You are Jon, hero and my love."

But he shook his head. "I don't know who I am if I'm not Eddard Stark's son… I never knew Rhaegar Targaryen, or Lyanna Stark for that matter. They may be my parents but they didn't raise me, Ned did. He taught me to ride, to shoot a bow and swing a sword." Pain filled his features, the many losses in his life joining with the agony of being adrift. "He taught me honor and treated me like his son even though he knew it hurt Catelyn Stark, his wife, to see me and think I was his bastard. He went through all that trouble, and yet I'm to forget it and accept a parent I never knew? How is that honorable to his memory?"

Her answer surprised him.

"It's not. You don't need to accept parents you never knew, only the ones you know and love. Rhaegar is my brother, but I never knew him. I have no familial kinship with him, only respect for the stories we tell about him and because he was our mother's son. Viserys was my brother, and I allowed him to die because he was a horrible person who should never have been allowed to get the way he was. Your upbringing defines you, but it doesn't own you."

There was a silence. "You're saying… To just forget them as my parents?"

She shook his head. "No, I'm saying accept them as your birth parents, but save your love and honors for Ned Stark. He was your father, you don't have to name someone your parent because they took part in bringing you into the world…."

Jon felt like crying, this woman, wise beyond her years, was right. Ned was his father, he was as much a Cunning Wolf as he was a Fearsome Dragon – he owed that to Lyanna as well as Ned, the blood of both ran through his veins.

The blood of the dragon…

"But what is all of this?" He threw his hands in the air. "Why must the gods play so many tricks on me? What do I know of being a Targaryen?" Jon's voice grew loud, but it was less angry than mournful. "They loved each other, Dany. They were in love and they loved me." It was a bittersweet image, one in his mind ever since Sam told him. Of a life with Rhaegar and Lyanna, as their trueborn son. With Ned as his dear uncle and his siblings as the closest of cousins. With the siblings he had lost to the Lannisters and with Daenerys… "You were the only of my… my father's family left and I… I…" Jon buried his face in his hands, hating himself at that moment.

Daenerys wasted no time throwing her arms around him – melding their bodies together in the most intimate of comforts. "I am guilty of that too, Jon. Caring more about the cursed Iron Throne than what you were going through. Than what you truly meant for me." It was a sick tragedy, the combination of both their efforts that nearly led to both of them to destruction. "But they did love you as Ned Stark did. You have surely made all of them proud, as I am proud of you."

Wordlessly, Jon tilted her head and kissed her. The two of them melting into the embrace. I will never give up on Dany again. He would not allow blind rage to control him, nor blind honor root him to inaction while everything shattered before him. He had only been a wolf, Dany had only ever been the Dragon, but now, with each other, they could learn to be both.

He found himself wiping a tear away, and smiled mournfully at her. "Ice and fire… balanced and perfect."

"Yes," she beamed. "We are the last Targaryens."

"Aye, we are." Jon let out a breath. "Ned was my father, but so was Rhaegar. I'm a Dragon by blood, as am I a wolf. It's time I accepted that part of me instead of shutting it out."

A roar bellowed overhead, and outside the ruins, Drogon and Rhaegal dropped into the courtyard. Rhaegal looked at him with swirling eyes, carefully watching him. Daenerys felt it, felt the bond inside them forge and solidify.

"Go to Rhaegal."

Jon looked surprised at the urgency in her tone, but stood and made his way to the green dragon. He couldn't describe it, but it felt like he needed to touch his scales. Reaching out, Rhaegal chirped and sniffed at him, pressing his face into Jon's hands without a second thought. Jon felt a jolt of pure joy go through him, and he turned to find Daenerys behind him with tears streaking down her cheeks.

"He accepted you… You're his rider now Jon."

She walked down the steps and smiled when Drogon immediately offered his wing, allowing her to climb up and seat herself between his scales. Rhaegal looked at Jon insistently, looking between his mother and his rider almost anxiously. Jon suddenly got the sense he was waiting for him to ride him like she was riding Drogon. Clamoring up, he sat between Rhaegal's spines with great care, attempting to keep from pinching sensitive areas with moving scales.

"Ready for your first real flight Jon?"

"What? Real flight? I've already ridden Rhaegal before!"

"As a guest, you had no real control of him. You didn't even know you were blood of the dragon," she laughed. Grinning at him. "He's giving you control now, you'll need to learn High Valyrian to fully command him, but remember above all else, a dragon is not a slave."

With that, Drogon roared – massive wings kicking up dust as he took to the skies, allowing Rhaegal room to take off too. Jon noticed the green dragon made no attempts at flight but instead grew more anxious as Drogon got further and further from him. He wouldn't take off until Jon gave him the order to do so, noticing this, Jon steeled himself and after wracking his brain for the word she used, shouted "Sōvegon!"

Rhaegal sprang forward, wingbeats working hard at the air as he began climbing, gathering speed before taking off and soaring toward his brother and mother. And for the first time, Jon felt no fear. The air blowing through his face, the world growing smaller beneath him, he felt freedom. A perfect serenity and peace, in his mind as well as his body. It felt as if a hole in his heart was finally filled, the missing peace of his soul returned to him. The dragon prince, Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, raised by Eddard Stark – all parts of him coming together.

Smiling, he urged Rhaegal to go faster, and whooped with joy as the wind roared around him.

Three Moons Later

Sansa Stark was livid, absolutely murderous. First, her brother chooses not to execute the mad whore, then he sends out the announcement of their betrothal via raven to every keep and town in the realm, and now he was ordering her to King's Landing for her trial? She'd never received word of her being under arrest or anything like it, no peep of malcontented anger or even a whisper of inspection. But now during the hardest months of Winter, with the manpower of the North depleted and many Northern houses virtually annihilated, she was to come to trial?

For moons now, no word of how the North would be allowed to continue had come to her, no word of how things in King's Landing had fared, and with Bran the way he was and Arya gone, she and she alone was left alone to deal with the North.

"They have no business telling me how to run my kingdom!" she screeched to the walls, letting it echo within her solar… what had been her father's solar.

They called her Queen now, Queen in the North. Proclaimed by Lord Glover and Lord Cerwyn in the great hall upon word of what happened in the capitol. There were a few who backed the Dragon Queen – notably the Free Folk observers, Alys Karstark, and a young man claiming to be the bastard of one Mormont or another – but they were all heckled down by the vast majority. Sansa had chosen to accept it, delighted in it as each day passed. Finally secure in the safety that power provided her.

Now came the greatest test of her young reign. As Queen, Sansa would force the Dragon Queen and her foolish brother to allow the North to secede from their dominion. Bran had seen her as the Queen in The North, sitting atop a throne of silver and a crown of twin wolves on her brow. The Red Wolf they called her, quiet and cunning, but a savage when she went for the throat. She'd show them her teeth and the Dragon would cower as she did in Winterfell months ago, and she'd walk away unscathed as always.

She chose to ride to King's Landing on a raven-maned mare, the hints of red in her hair reminding her of bloodstains on dark clothing. It was a hard ride south, but they arrived in about a moon. Sansa was angry in spite of all attempts Brienne gave to calm her, and the frightfully cold and the wind-bitten skin of her face didn't help cheer her mood in the slightest. The Unsullied roaming the streets made her wary, their knowing eyes seeming to mock her presence.

The looks the Dothraki gave her, half-contemptuous and half… hungry, certainly did. With them outfitted in the same leathers as the Unsullied, but in a reddish brown color, it was easy to spot them as Royal Guards. Daenerys had no doubt given the order that they may nor rape and pillage as they desired anymore, not in her city. But by the looks of it, the yearning to do so nevertheless remained. She strode up the street with pride and confidence, letting the airs of authority remind those around her of her status.

For she had a good idea of what was to come, and knew herself to be ready.

"Bran… what have you seen?"

The seated figure that was Bran Stark yet also not Bran Stark's eyes flew back from their milky-white shell not several seconds before, staring ahead for a moment before finding Sansa. "She burned King's Landing. Torched it with her dragon – Tyrion asked Jon to kill her."

Sighing, Sansa clenched her fists together. Vindicated yet again, it seemed. "So Jon did the deed? I'll see if he can be sent to exile here in the North…"

"No." Bran cut her off. "Jon failed to kill her. Instead, they are closer than ever."

"What?!" Sansa's mouth dropped. She couldn't believe it. "Jon… so he's given over to his other blood… or is bewitched by her. That… weakling." No longer naïve enough to believe her mother's simplistic attitudes, what Sansa had found was sentimentality only led to weakness. Jon suffered from that just as Ned Stark.

Bran merely watched her, eyes eerily unblinking. "She'll demand the loyalty of the Lords… including you."

Sansa looked up, resolute. "That monster won't have mine. I don't care if she threatens to burn me, I won't do it."

"You may have to… but there are other enemies out there… ones more dangerous than Cersei."

Looking down at her brother curiously, Sansa raised an eyebrow. "Who are these enemies?"

If she didn't know better, she could have sworn a ghost of a smirk appeared on Bran's face. "That is something you are better off not knowing."

Remembering her conversation many moons ago, Sansa Stark still had no clue who Bran spoke of. He hadn't spoken to her about it since, and Sansa didn't try to find out. Perhaps he was right… surrounded by the army of the Dragon Queen, a little plausible deniability could go a long way.

When she arrived at the palace, Sansa was startled to hear no titles given by the couple seated on the twin thrones – they hadn't replaced that foreign servant that did it in Winterfell, the one that spoke in Daenerys' favor in the crypts. Nobody bellowed out her titles either, which greatly annoyed her. She'd worked hard for the title of Queen in the North, and she demanded it be recognized. To her even greater annoyance, the man only announced her given name.

"Announcing Lady Sansa, of House Stark."

"Sansa Stark, Queen in the North," she barked, quite irritated.

Daenerys, immaculate and without a hint of madness on her beautiful face, smiled. It was strained though, for she remembered what Sansa could be like. Rude, arrogant, and self-centered – forged by the greatest of evils a man could visit on a woman, but still an adversary to her and the Targaryen Dynasty. Jon's hand tightened on hers from beside her, a reminder to remain calm and collected.

Gods, how she loved him for it.

"We don't need to use titles with you. Everyone knows who and what you are, Sansa. There's no need for reminders." He watched her grit her teeth.

"I see.," she forced herself to say. "Well, care to explain why I'm here?"

Jon spoke first, knowing she'd deny everything at first. "Tyrion Lannister. Explain how he and Varys knew my birth name." Sansa paled slightly. "When you were the only one I told that day under the Weirwood Tree. When you swore to keep it secret."

Huffing, Sansa refused to be intimidated even by the more obvious dragon-instincts that Aegon Targaryen gave away. "I assume they knew because I told Tyrion, because he deserved to know he could serve someone else with the right name. Because he was my husband."

"Was. Was your husband, not anymore. He wasn't your husband when you told him and…"

Sansa broke her off, anger filling her features into a hateful snarl. "I'm speaking to my brother, not his whore."

Jon stood, letting her hand fall. Daenerys looked from her hand to his enraged face, then reached for him again in an attempt to soothe him. He brushed her away, afraid of turning to her and letting loose the torrent of words swelling up like a balloon filled with too much air.

"SILENCE!" There was no denying the fire in his eyes, the dragon in his blood. "You of all people will not speak to her that way! She's done awful things, but because of you she nearly died for them!" Jon's hand went for Longclaw at his hip, and for the first time Sansa stepped back. Face white… she was afraid of him. A dreadful miscalculation for the supposed Queen in the North. "Varys poisoned her! He gave her Basilisk Blood and let it drive her mad! Every meal for months! What she did wasn't her fault. It was YOURS!"

Sansa staggered back, a terrified look on her face. She'd never seen Jon this angry, and when his words finally came through, she felt sick. Had she really been the cause of the thousands dead?

"No… No I'm not the cause of her actions! SHE burned King's Landing! Not me!"

"You may as well have moved her like a pawn in a game of chess Sansa, Varys was told by Tyrion, who was told by you after SWEARING to me you'd remain silent!" Blood boiling, Dany's gentle touch managed to calm him slightly. Face hard, he sat, staring at Sansa with contempt. "Why should we trust you? Why should you be allowed power?"

"MY THRONE IS NOT YOUR RIGHT TO GIVE JON SNOW!"

A burning, twisting rage passed over his features, and with a quick decisive move, Daenerys stepped forward and took over before he killed his sister. "Enough. You're tired from your journey, rooms have been provided for you in what was the Coinmaster's Chambers. It should be… grand enough… for your majesty. Now would be wise to retire to them…"

A snarl twisted her features, but she recognized a royal dismissal when she saw one, and with a mock bow she sauntered off to her room. Jon seethed, his anger so palpable that Daenerys could taste it, like charcoal. She touched his face, her calming heartbeat pulsing into her fingers and soothing his own jack-rabbit heart.

"Jon… Aegon." The use of his Targaryen name seemed to do the trick – to most he was still Jon Snow, bastard of Winterfell, but to Dany he was so much more. "Calm my love, she is stubborn, but she will eventually see her wrong. Give her a moon's time to think, then we'll demand an answer for her betrayal. Until then… I have a secret to tell you."

Suspicious glee filled his eyes, and he smirked at her, his mind traveling to dirty scenarios that he could perform with her in their chambers. Catching his eye, he was ecstatic to watch her blush before she chastised him for being so mischievous.

"I sent for Arya last month… Asking her to be the new captain of the Kingsguard. She'll be here soon and I thought… you could greet her with a ride on Rhaegal to make her a little more… hesitant… to leave? She was always so eager to ride them."

"You sly woman… Using my dragon as an incentive to keep my little sister here. Clever temptress."

He tapped her nose, and then kissed her with a fiery passion that made her weak at the knees. When they broke for air, he felt her shiver in desire for him. A silent decision was made, and before long they were up against their chamber door, panting and aching for each other. She was a moaning, whimpering mess when he touched her. Panting and slick with her wanton need for him, he was inside her as soon as his breeches were loosened. Hard, sure thrusts filled her with an even greater need to cum. She needed him, and his thrusts weren't enough.

"Harder…. Oh gods, faster Jon. More… I need more!"

Quick to oblige, he began playing with her clit. Touching and pinching, watching her buck as she came unglued in her need for him. Screams filled the room, screams of pleasure riding on the edge of insanity, his lovemaking bringing her to the cusp of an earth-shattering orgasm she so desperately craved. She'd craved this when he first took her on the ship, needed this when he'd kissed her and left her in Winterfell, yearned for it when he took her again for the first time in the King's Chambers.

Jon stilled in her, and as he filled her she felt her orgasm erupt from deep in her core. The hot feeling of his seed in her being the final tool to bring Dany to her end. Slowly, they disentangled themselves and rested in the furs of their chambers, his thumb gently rubbing her ribcage.

Suddenly, she remembered the Witch's words, and tears filled her eyes. They dropped silently down her face until they rested on his chest, startled, he jumped up and looked at her. Tears dripped down her face like rainwater on rooftops, and she did it all without whimpers or shaky breaths. He wondered then, when she'd learned to cry like an old woman.

"Daenerys… My love what's wrong? Have I hurt you?"

She shook her head, and her chest began to heave, with her face beginning to redden she asked him woodenly, brokenly "Tell me it's not true… Tell me the witch lied to me. Tell me I can bear children for you…"

"Dany… My love, she was lying. She was a bitter old woman who wanted to hurt you. She didn't know who we are together, what our magic can do… You and I, a blending of death and life, can bring anything to this world."

She sobbed into his chest, his heart breaking with the sounds of her despair. Slowly, he forced her to look at him.

"You could bear me no children and I'd love you no less Daenerys…" A broken, happy sob tore from her chest, making him smile. "And you could bear me a thousand babes and I would love them just as much as I love you." He kissed her, slowly, sweetly. "I do not need children to be happy, my love, though there is no doubt we will have them. I just need you."

Two Weeks Later

Arya stepped through the gates of Kings Landing, taking note of the builders reconstructing houses and walls, smiling as she realized they'd called every builder around them to rebuild what Drogon had burned. She noticed they were working in sewers too, and wondered briefly what they could be working on. A hand around her waist reminded her of Gendry, and without caring of onlookers she leaned into his embrace. The hooting dragons overhead made her smile, marveling in their playful banter as they soared overhead.

"How does everyone feel safe with those… beasts overhead?" Gendry asked quietly, his voice low to avoid making anyone angry. "A few months ago they were being used to burn streets and people alive… But now, everyone looks almost peaceful."

She laughed, then kissed his cheek. "Because everyone here isn't terrified of the sun you great oaf."

"Oaf? I'm an oaf now am I? Well what does that make you then, miss priss?"

She thumped his arm, knowing he could take it. Still… the fact remained of her brother… cousin rather if you looked at it technically, was about to marry the woman that burned the entire city. "I worry for him."

Gendry knew what she spoke of. "Well, it should be over soon either way." Leave it to a man from Flea Bottom to be flippant about the fates. They took their time, making their way slowly to the Capitol. Once there, they were greeted by the sight of Unsullied guards lining the empty throne room, wary of the dark-haired swordswoman. Needle was clasped tightly in its scabbard, but she strangely felt the need to grab the hilt. A bellowing roar outside drew her attention, and within moments a dark green dragon landed in the courtyard, Jon Snow atop his back.

"Arya!"

Turning her head, she caught sight of Jon waving at her, beckoning her closer. Wary, but curious, she made her way forward despite the useless lout behind her trying desperately to keep her beside him.

"Wanna go for a ride?"

She grinned, looking so much like the young girl who was first gifted Needle that he felt his heart clench at the memory, at the time before everything wrong had happened to their family. He let her wrap his arms around his waist, mildly surprised that Rhaegal had allowed another to ride him so easily. Perhaps it was because Jon had invited her to? They went for a short flight around Kings Landing, making sure Arya could see the world below with perfect clarity. When they landed again, Jon helped Arya down and let her lean on him with shaky legs.

"First ride is always the hardest on the body, but with time, you'll get used to it."

"Will I? I hadn't realized my decision to stay was made for me…"

Jon smiled, a hearty laugh coming from him.

"No it hasn't, but we were hoping the ride would persuade you a little. Daenerys is hopeful that you'll take the position as the first female Commander."

Arya's smile faltered a little at the mention of Daenerys, she wanted so much to like her cousin's choice of partners, but she knew her actions couldn't be explained or forgiven. But perhaps, perhaps she could try to accept her. If Jon had, then she couldn't be all that bad could she? She must have changed for the better for Jon to love her so completely.

"I'll hear her out, but I make no promises. I don't know if I want the job yet or not… But I can promise I'll listen and come into it with an open mind."

"That's all I ask."

Jon led the way into the castle, where Arya was shocked to see Daenerys waiting for them in a breeches and a thick coat, apparently just returning from a flight as well.

"Sorry I'm not as presentable as I would've liked, if I don't take Drogon out for a flight at least once a day he gets upset with me, as if I don't love him enough."

She laughed, then strode forward and kissed Jon soundly, and gave Arya her warmest smile. She wasn't trying to win her over, she was just genuinely happy from the joys of flight.

"Welcome to King's Landing, Arya."


	4. Chapter Four: New Beginnings

Hey guys, sorry for the long wait. I've got issues with migraines and my meds aren't working right now sooo ... Fun times! Huge thanks to Longclaw1-6 for being so helpful during this chapter and helping me write this out for you guys, seriously the best collaborator I've ever had the pleasure of working with! But anyway here's the fourth chapter of A Targaryen Dynasty, and if you can figure out who the mystery person is, you get a shout out in the next chapter for being so well versed in Game of Thrones!

As Always, I own nothing.

Much love,

BlackRose999

Arya stood on the balcony of the Red Keep, staring out to sea. Long ago – in a different life it seemed – she had been largely in this very spot. Staring out at the very water as she did now. Only then she was smaller, weaker, more naïve.

Oh, to be that naïve again. Honestly, after everything, she would have given much to go back to that simpler time. Right now, things were quiet and those on her list long dead… but the intervening death and chaos deserved never to happen. Father deserved to live, Robb deserved to live, Rickon deserved to live. Hells, Jon's true mother and father… had they lived she knew things would have been better.

But the past was the past. Only the future mattered now.

What am I to do, though?

Sighing, Arya turned away from the window, lost in thought. She'd loved traveling, learning new skills, sparring with her lover, and keeping up with her Water Dancing techniques – all of them brought her joy, as did finally reuniting with her family after so long. But something was still missing. All such joys were unfulfilling in and of themselves. She needed a purpose, a reason to stay somewhere where she was needed. No amount of travel or adventure could fill that void, Arya was growing to learn more each day. She was seriously considering taking the offer of becoming Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, the first of women to take command.

She'd be challenged, of course, and she could prove herself worthy as she had with Brienne of Tarth again and again.

Honestly, wasn't it her childhood dream come true. I won't ever have to wear a dress again.

"Musing again, Arya?"

Gendry broke her trance, making her smile half-heartedly at him. He knew what she was feeling, he understood her need for a purpose and a passion, he understood her. He just didn't like it. He felt ill-at-ease with the dragons overhead, and he didn't enjoy the idea of spending his life, raising a family, here with them circling above.

"Just thinking… I need a purpose Gendry… I need something to do with my life." Her list had been the driving force so far, but now it was over. What good was an adventure if it led to nowhere? "And I think this might be it, the first Lady Commander of the Kingsguard… Who'd have thought it would be me and not Brienne?"

"Arya… I…" She often called him a stupid bull, but Arya knew Gendry was quite bright when he wanted to be. "I have no doubt you could do it, but is the Targaryen Queen worth serving?"

Frowning, she knew he had some validity there. "Jon loves her. I… I trust him." Arya did, but it didn't shake all her worries.

Before Gendry could respond, however, there was a knock on the door. "Lady Arya, Lord Gendry," a servant stated after being allowed entrance. "Their Graces would like a word."

Smoothing down her shirt and trousers, Arya grabbed Needle and hooked it on her belt. "Come on, bull. Let's go."

The servant bowed gracefully before turning on her heel and leading the way to the redecorated throne room.

Arya looked over the décor and she approved – she figured this was what her childhood self dreamed of. Dragon banners hung throughout the room, but the twin banners beside the thrones were different. Half dragons maw, half snarling wolf. No crowns sat on the brows of the couple seated on the dais, no extravagant clothes or exceedingly long titles given. This surprised Arya, she always pegged Daenerys as one who needed her titles spoken.

Yet it was her loyal servant that gave those titles. The one that the Mountain killed. Perhaps it was too painful to even try?

"Lady Arya of House Stark, Lord Gendry of House Baratheon," Grey Worm announced in a curt statement.

That snapped Arya out of her contemplation. "I'm not a lady."

Jon stood, smiling warmly at the couple before him. "Welcome sister, and sorry about that." He chuckled, sharing a grin with Daenerys. "We mean no disrespect to you, but as you see your titles have not been spoken. That is because, in this time of need, we must project humility and understanding of the smallfolk."

"Understandable, can't have riots in the streets of the city you sacked not that long ago."

Arya looked disapprovingly at her lover. "Gendry…"

Gendry was promptly silenced, but sent a distrusting glare to the dragons outside, both seeming to have the time of their lives now that their riders were safe and together. Arya turned back to Jon and noticed the troubled look on his face.

"It's the dragons… Isn't it?"

"Just a bit frightening, especially to outsiders. You remember your first time meeting them right?"

Jon chuckled, remembering the startled looks and the fact that he'd nearly soiled his breeches upon their first meeting. Arya, seeming to understand his embarrassment, grinned and gave Jon a mischievous look.

"Well I do see to recall a startled boy on the bridges of Dragonstone looking a bit terrified, but I don't believe it was me."

Arya gave a hearty laugh, and the mood shifted back to a pleasant aura. Even Gendry cracked a smile at that one, and ever so slightly, he relaxed. Daenerys smiled and gripped Jon's hand lovingly. "You did do well when I landed Drogon before you… he never let anyone but myself touch him before."

"In all fairness, had I pissed myself I was afraid my smell would only irritate him."

That coaxed a giggle from Dany – Arya finally noticed what Jon saw in her. The obvious and genuine love this woman had for her brother, regardless of their stature or power. But there was something tinging it… a sense of nervousness in the Queen almost.

Because of me? Biting her lip, the wild wolf truly did regret not approaching her at Winterfell. Perhaps all could have been avoided had I done so…

"Arya," the Queen finally said. "From your actions in the Long Night, it is clear you are an excellent swordswoman and someone both skilled and dependable. As your soon to be goodsister, I'd like to offer you the position of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard… If you'll have it." There it was, the formal offer. "With it would come sizable rooms, a fair wage, and a lifetime position as my friend and champion… But again, only if you agree."

Arya looked down, her mind aching as she processed it all. She wanted this – it was a dream come true for her. Every part of her younger self and most of her current self wanted so badly to accept Daenerys' proposal... But she couldn't… not yet at least. "You need to provide something for me first…" Arya blurted out, trying to be as formal as possible. Oddly for someone with her training, it didn't come easy.

Daenerys looked confused, as did Jon. "You can ask anything of us, sister," Jon said, mollifying her.

Nevertheless, shame crept into her expressionless features. "An explanation, for the burning of Kings Landing, for the promise of your armies sacking cities and ending 'the wheel'." Each word brought Arya more confidence, more ire. "Tell me, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, when did you stop being the Breaker of Chains? When did you stop protecting people who needed, loved, and worshipped you, and start burning people alive for living in the wrong city?"

Each word was like agony for Daenerys. Since the fateful day, dark and foreboding in her mind, Jon and she never spoke of it. Ignored it as much as possible, both clinging to Kinvara's explanations and the truth of Dany's state of mind to put it past them. For the Bastard of Winterfell and the Beggar Princess to finally have the happiness so denied them. But they knew it would come up again and were silently glad Arya was the one to bring it up.

Tears welled in her eyes, but Daenerys sucked in a breath and answered with Jon's hand clasped tightly in hers. "All my life… I struggled with the knowledge of my father's misdeeds. Of his… madness." The word felt like poison, both because of what she came from and what she nearly fell too. "The trials were great, my enemies ruthless, but never once did I succumb."

"You crucified a hundred men in Meereen," Arya countered. "Or so I've heard."

Dany's gaze hardened. "Given they ordered the crucifixion of two hundred slave children under the age of ten, they deserved worse. I'm sure you of all people would understand." Arya blinked, eyes downcast for a moment. One look at Jon showed that the story had to be a true one – a deserved killing, no doubt. "But you're right, Arya. What happened here was evil and horrid."

"If you are so concerned about justice, why did you do it?" Gendry asked, voice even and loud. "This was my home, however shitty it was."

"Cersei was planning to immolate it all with wildfire, such was the warning I was given prior to attacking. Even in the bad way I was in after Missandei's death and what… what happened at Winterfell…" Jon squeezed her hand again. "I can't be sure of many things, but what Cersei had planned for King's Landing was never something I wanted – had I not been poisoned…"

Arya blinked. "What?" Eyes shifting towards Jon, that grim look on his face told her all she needed to know about the veracity of Daenerys' statement. "Who did it?"

"Varys," Jon growled, scowling. "Tyrion told him of my… true birth, to which he learned from one of the three other people who knew. I doubt Bran did, so who were the only others that could have?"

It certainly wasn't me… Her eyes widened. Sansa! What have you done?

"I've spoken to the Maester of Dragonstone, someone that served my brother and mother long before Stannis Baratheon took over my birthplace." Dany sighed, looking quite… vulnerable. Haggard. "Given Basilisk Blood with every meal for months, and then in my wine when I couldn't eat. It causes whispers… madness... he did it in the hopes I would fall apart enough to do something horrible, like burning Kings Landing."

"From what Davos was able to decipher," Jon added when Dany just couldn't. "Qyburn's men were given orders to set off the wildfire when we reached Visenya's hill. After Dany attacked, they set all of it off anyway, causing at least half the damage" A small comfort to the Targaryens, but not nearly wiping away what Daenerys had done in her poisoned state.

"While it doesn't begin to atone for my crimes, Lady Arya, I hope it can help you understand that I wasn't completely in control of my own mind anymore. I hope you can forgive a daughter… for being her father." Wordlessly, Jon leaned over and kissed Dany's temple, trying to keep her from falling apart.

Gendry bowed his head, looking saddened by the knowledge that the woman he blamed for everything, wasn't at fault for a vast majority of the crimes committed here. Arya grimaced and fingered Needle's hilt. She thought hard about this and finally found herself forgiving Daenerys for her destruction of the city. She knew it would take some time to fully trust her, but she could at least forgive the majority of her actions as it wasn't technically her fault.

Her ruthlessness… wasn't she the same? Wasn't Sansa? They had both engaged in brutality just like Dany. Arya could see such hypocrisy. "Is that why Tyrion was arrested?"

There was a silence before Jon answered. "He was arrested after bidding me kill Daenerys." That was truly shocking for Arya. "I think he knew about the poisonings and he admitted to telling Varys and starting all of this." He didn't want Tyrion to die, but after all of this, it was what he deserved.

Biting her lip, Arya looked up at her brother – Jon would always be her brother – and his future bride. "When the snow falls and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies," Arya looks to Jon and sees tears in his eyes. "But the pack survives." Jon choked, understanding the meaning of her words, he steps toward her and she immediately jumps into his arms, laying her head on his shoulder. "Father taught us all that lesson, but I didn't heed it. In the end… I didn't treat you as part of my pack."

"That's not true…"

Arya shook her head. "No, I should have trusted you." She pulled back, looking at Dany for a moment before turning back to Jon. "You were the only one who encouraged me to become a fighter, cause you knew that was my destiny."

He offered a tiny smile. "I had a feeling you'd do it."

"I should have trusted you about Daenerys. If you of all people found her worthy… I'm sorry."

Daenerys stood, hopeful. "Your apology is not necessary, Arya. You are my family as well as his." Arya, upon noticing this, knelt before her. Something she should have done a long while ago.

"I pledge my fealty to House Targaryen, I will shield your back, protect you in battle, and give my life for yours if necessary. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

Daenerys stepped forward, gently laying her hand on her shoulder. Tears choked her voice, the knowledge that she was being forgiven for her actions and gaining a sister after so long alone almost too much to bear.

"I swear, you will always have a place in my home, and at my table. I will ask no service that may bring you dishonor, or knowingly cost you your life. With my husband's permission, I would name you Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, an honor that is bestowed for life."

Arya smiled, liking that she didn't say 'Lady Commander' in her title. "If it won't be a problem, can it just be 'Commander?' A Lord is just a Lady with different parts."

Chortling, Daenerys grinned. "That can be arranged, sister." Jon nodded, giving his permission to Daenerys since they were to be joint rulers. No longer would the Queen… or King for that matter, be subservient to the other spouse. With a stiff spine, Arya accepted and felt the metaphorical yoke settle on her shoulders, a yoke she found to be strangely light. Daenerys laughed, a happy, joyful sound that Arya couldn't help but smile at. "Grey Worm, please see to it that Commander Stark is fitted with her armor."

"You had armor made for her?" Gendry asked.

"I had a feeling she'd accept," Jon smirked, earning a punch in the arm for his sister. "You strike your King?"

"Shut up, stupid. It's my responsibility now to make sure only I can do that to you." She was already liking her new role.

From her light agility in battle, Daenerys ordered her outfitted in the same type of garb Grey Worm wore, but with extra protection. Her breeches were made of thick leather to provide both warmth and protection, boots slightly heeled for riding and fitted with knife sheaths. Arya was provided plated armor that ran to her hips, with a buckled scale skirt that stopped at the knee. Her elbows were covered by tightly woven chain mail, under her plated pauldrons and her vambraces, her hands were clothed in leather gloves protected by plated finger guards. Her legs were guarded by her skirt and plate greaves that covered black leather boots.

When she was done, Arya looked like a proper Kingsguard, yet also slim and with a feminine edge, unlike the much broader Brienne. To her surprise, she enjoyed that feature, a signature style of her high honor that filled her with a sense of pride she'd never felt before. With Needle and her Valyrian steel dagger strapped to her sides, she walked out to meet Gendry's astonished eyes and Jon's proud demeanor.

"Kneel before me, Arya Stark, so that I may grant you the title you so richly deserve."

Arya kneeled, feeling the leather compress her legs gently. She could barely feel the weight of her armor, but it made her feel more powerful than she'd felt when she'd slain the Night King. Jon drew Longclaw, setting the edges gently over her shoulders as he knighted her, and suddenly she felt like a child playing dress-up, but as quickly as the feeling came it went away. Replaced by a heavy sense of pride and responsibility.

"Rise, Siress Arya Stark of Winterfell. Rise and take your place as Commander of the Kingsguard."

A knock on the door pulled Sansa from her angry musings. Over a day she had been confined to quarters – not officially, but from the stone-faced Unsullied lining the corridors it only seemed obvious as to what Jon and Daenerys were up to. Ironic… mother always worried his bastard blood would bring us to ruin… it's his trueborn blood that shall. Aegon Targaryen, King of the Seven Kingdoms. It was like the North no longer mattered to the Targaryen King.

"Shall I, my Lady…?"

"Yes, yes. Be quick about it." With a frustrated growl, she allowed her assigned maid to open the door.

A gruff voice drew Sansa's attention. "Leave the room," it said to the maid."

"Yes, my Lady," the servant bowed. At who the voice turned out to be, Sansa was surprised she didn't blow up at the maid… that is, she would have been surprised had she not been completely shocked at the form displayed before her.

Her younger sister stood before her in full martial glory. About her body was a distinctly northern set of silver mail and plate armor over black leathers, only her sister's face revealing that it was truly Arya Stark. But most glaring and noticeable were the markings upon the armor. Yes, two snarling direwolves adorned the gorget as they had Jon's, but etched upon the breastplate was a magnificent three-headed dragon – the sigil of House Targaryen.

For a moment, she didn't understand, and when she did she felt nothing but anger. "Arya? What are you wearing?"

Arya smiled a coy, selfish smile that Sansa had hated since birth. It had evolved greatly as her skills and confidence increased and matured, but in short, it meant that Arya had done whatever she'd wanted and said 'fuck you' to the consequences. Again. She'd done that when she had been caught sparring with the butcher's boy, and again when she'd disappeared for a full day in King's Landing. When she'd come back after years of being gone and sparred with Brienne of Tarth and made it look like a game to her, then when she had spoken to her about Pytr Baelish's lies and betrayal of their mother's good faith by murdering her family through brutal manipulations.

And yet this seemed only more jarring than the last. "You don't like it, sweet sister?" Her voice was outwardly coquettish and flirty, but for Arya clearly sarcastic. "I'm wearing my new uniform." Giggling mockingly, she twirled around – as if a maiden gushing over a Myrish lace gown. "I've been named Commander of the Targaryen Kingsguard, and knighted by Jon and Daenerys."

Sansa's lip twisted into a snarl at the name of Jon's love, and she stood from her seat in a huff. Pacing back and forth, she snapped at Arya once again.

"Daenerys Targaryen, the Dragon Whore… So you've sided with her then?"

"Sides?" She cocked her head to the side. "There are no sides Sansa, you're not even giving her a chance to-"

Sansa cut her off, rage boiling over like a pot left on the fire too long. How dare she act like there was nothing wrong with Jon's choice of a lifemate? "Give her a chance? Give her a chance? Were you off in Bravos when she burned half of King's Landing to a crisp? When she destroyed the chances of survival for an entire House with her Dragonfire? Are you daft in the head?"

Now it was Arya's turn to go red with anger. "That entire House you speak of was responsible for Father's death… for Robb's death, and by extension Rickon. But I suppose not all of us can be the gooddaughter to Tywin Lannister. Couldn't get one lion so you got the other?"

Her cheeks burned at the mention of her connections to Tywin and Joffrey. "How dare you!" Sansa shrieked, for a moment turning back into that shrill, immature young girl. "Tywin deserved the block, Cersei deserved the block! I'm not going to cry for their deaths but Daenerys made their perfidy look like nothing in the scheme of things! Why should she be trusted, let alone be allowed to live for her crimes?!"

"And what of my crimes?"

"I…" Arya's words confused her. "What?"

Arya stepped forward menacingly, and unsurprisingly Sansa took several steps back. Before her wasn't the sister she loved… no, it was the demon that Walder Frey or Meryn Trant must have seen before they died. She looked at Arya with shock and mild fear, her sister had never once acted so harshly toward her, not even when she'd discovered her Game of Faces. Why would she be this way now?

"Listen to me, Sansa, and you better remember what I tell you." Arya's voice took a malevolent quality, like a growling wolf. "I've slaughtered an entire House too, murdered more than I know how to count, and that's not counting the soldiers I killed during the sacking of King's Landing. I did all of it with a clear conscience, no madness, and no fury." Her eyes narrowed as she withdrew Catspaw from its sheath. The gleaming steel reflected Sansa's shaking form. "I would have killed you too Sansa, had you crossed any of us the wrong way with your lies and manipulations."

"Arya…"

She cut her off with a dark chuckle. "Baelish taught you well…"

That last remark hit Sansa like a blow to the gut. "Sister… I'm not…" What could she say? Confronted with the murderous glare, the glint of the knife… Sansa's eyes welled with tears – pushed beyond her walls, beyond the persona that covered the poor, frightened girl raped by Ramsay and brutalized by Joffrey. Unable to truly confront such terrors other than burying them behind a quest for power.

But none of those revelations went through Sansa's mind as she shook her head. She was not in the wrong! Why was everyone so against her? "All I have done was to protect the family from the outside world, from the Dragons and the Lions and the other predators that threatened to swallow our family alive." She had so little left. Was she really so wrong to try and keep them safe beneath her wings?

Arya scoffed. "Please, you just learned from Cersei that power was the only thing that could satiate a bitter, lonely woman and you internalized it. But I don't care… Daenerys may still be a stranger to me thanks to trusting you when I shouldn't have."

"She was going to steal our birthright…"

"Shut up!" she hissed. "I'll have to get to know our future goodsister, but I do know Jon and know that he's happy. Happy for the first time in his shitty life… no thanks to you."

Gulping, Sansa had no response to that. She had treated him like shit growing up, and did that really change now?

"Let me get this abundantly clear," Arya said, pressing the dagger to Sansa's neck. "You cross me by trying to hurt Daenerys or Jon, or any of their future offspring, I will kill you. And I won't shed a single tear about it, I've learned the hard way that tears are a waste of time, effort, and resources." Watching her gulp, Arya pulled Catspaw away and sheathed it. "You're not going to touch them, I catch you looking at them wrong so help me, I'll slit your throat like I did Littlefinger – without a moment's hesitation. You are a threat and you will be treated like one."

Arya left the room then, not bothering to close the door as her armor clinked softly as she walked away. Leaving Sansa to cry soundlessly in her empty rooms.

In the dark of night, four men gathered in a dimly lit room. Servants dismissed after pouring goblets of honeyed wine and serving plates of cheese and grapes, Illyrio Mopatis sat at the head of the table – with three men were gathered around him, along with a cloaked figure.

The Pentosi didn't dig into the food as he would have normally, merely sipping at the wine without much gusto. He still grieved over the loss of his closest friend. At least Varys left something. A last ditched effort in case all others failed. From the news that filtered out of King's Landing… the time was now.

"... Is this her?"

"Yes, of course." Perfectly shaped nails dug into palms beneath the table, a gentle shiver of fear rolling through her body like an unchecked wave. The men beside her were cruel, vicious… they had no desire to keep her comfortable, so the chains on her wrists and ankles attested. "She looks so… beautiful, doesn't she? Like a bird whose wings have been clipped."

The man beside her, Shaen was as slimy as they come, with hands that never strayed far from her body. And the man across from her, Jaxar, liked to use the whip on his belt for everything he determined to be a slight, especially when it came from her. But the disgusting creature that sat beside her only friend was truly despicable, a man who used her body like it was his to own and control, who beat her for even opening her mouth against him, who fed her not but thinned broth and moldy bread with cheese. She was so thin, so hungry, she feared that even a slight wind would blow her over like reeds.

"She looks ill-used, have you been too rough with her Maegrin? You know for this plan to work she must-"

"... Be perfectly sound in both body and soul, she is. She's fine. Tell him."

The woman shook with fear, wanting so badly to tell Illyrio how badly she'd been treated in her many years with Maegrin's men, how roughly she'd been used. Perhaps now, under the protection of his House, she could be free?

"Maegrin… Is… Is-"

"Yes, sweetling?"

Maegrin's firm rebuke sent her into herself, shrinking in size as the weight of his words crushed her compliant body.

"Maegrin is a... " Tyrant, say it! Say it please! "... good man."

NO! You idiot what have you done!? Now he'll let you stay with him! You've caused yourself so much more pain! Shaking her thoughts from her mind, she met Illyrio's gaze with fearful tear-filled eyes, and she felt nothing but disgust as Shaen put his hand on her upper thigh again. Bile rose in her throat, but she dared not do anything to move his fingers from her leg. She knew better.

"I see.. Very well. The lady will stay with me while we get her station in order, then she will be placed in the Targaryen court once they allow visitors again."

Maegrin glared, his jaw setting angrily as he thought of his favorite toy being taken from him so quickly.

"I really must protest, I could just ship her to you once the time comes."

"Nonsense, shipping her would cost more than just keeping her here, and when she's here I can train her to be who she was born to be." Varys, did you truly know what you were putting her through?

Maegrin didn't agree but nodded in agreement anyway. He'd use her before he left to ensure she'd remember who her real master was. Who her master would always be. The three men left the estate later that evening, leaving her alone with Illyrio. Shivering in fear, she hid her face under the black hood on her head. She knew better than to look anyone in the face after Maegrin had beaten her senseless for just that, looking him in the face. Illyrio took her face gently in his hands and slowly made her look at him. Blue-violet eyes met his with a terrified sheen, and her lip trembled.

"Princess… you can relax. You are among friends now, I'd never hurt you."

He gently removed the hood, exposing lustrous dark hair and honey-brown skin to the light, framed by her eyes. A pure, sparkling violet, eyes that few could compare to. Then he quietly removed her chains and led her to the bath, the same baths that had cleaned and soothed his last guests. Silently fuming at the treatment Maegrin had given her.


	5. Chapter Five: Blessings and Torments

Hey Guys! How was everyone's weekend? Good, I hope? Anyway as promised here's a huge shoutout to Canuck777 for being so well versed in Game of Thrones history and lore! You were the first to guess correctly, so as a reward you get to incorporate an Idea into the story! Please message me in PM or just review the chapter with your Idea and I PROMISE it will be implemented when I have the ability to do so!

Anywho, here's the next chapter of ATD! As always I own nothing and George R.R. Martin gets all the damn credit!

Happy Reading!

BlackRose999

"Your Grace… your Grace?"

Blinking repeatedly, Daenerys looked up after almost being caught falling asleep. Regal mask falling over her face, she managed to cover up the embarrassing blush.

Lord Hand Davos, fatherly concern on his face, leaned over to her. "Are you alright, your Grace? Shall I fetch the King?" While they weren't wed yet, given Jon's parentage, dragon-riding, and their very… intimate cohabitation all had come to refer to him by his future title. Though I suppose he is the King by right…

"Yes, Lord Hand, I am alright." She offered a kindly smile. "Thank you for your concern." Without delay, Dany turned back to who was speaking. "Continue."

Nodding, the master-builder pointed to the drawings he had personally sketched. "The rubble of the Sept of Baelor actually provides a good foundation for your proposed Dragonhall, while a source for building stone in and of itself. Visenya's Hill may be quite a bit shorter, but I believe this design would be much more worthy of her memory."

The master-builder was likely full of it, but Daenerys agreed with his words. "House Targaryen has strayed too far from its roots, and that lost us the dragons. We shan't make the same mistake in the restoration." Leaning over the table, the sleeves of her black gown pooling on the stone surface, she inspected the designs. It looked… quite radical. Rounded arches, a roof of red tile, most that looked over them said it made the old Sept look shabby in comparison. A perfect home for the blend of faiths from the Lord of Light to the Old Gods that had paid a part in their victory – she may have not been devout but with all the magic out there she wasn't naïve. "Very well, your design is accepted. Lord Davos will arrange for your men to begin work forthwith."

He broke out in a smile, bowing. "Thank you, your Grace – I won't disappoint." He quickly made his exit, almost jumping at the chance to get to work.

Sighing, the Queen fell back in her seat. Her hands came to the side of her head and rubbed her temples – a weak but effective source of relief for her pulsing headache. Temporarily, that is. A gentle hand rested on her shoulder. "Are you sure you don't require a maester, your Grace? Or one of the Dothraki healers?"

"I'm fine, Lord Davos," Daenerys told her Hand. Clever and guileless, the Onion Knight had quickly turned out to be a far better Hand than Tyrion had ever been, a source of great support for both her and Jon during the last moons. "Davos, aren't your wife and sons due in the capital any day now?"

A warm smile spread on his face. "Today, actually. I was hoping to head to the docks before twilight…"

"Go. Find your family," Daenerys replied, finding his happiness infectious. "They shall dine with Jon and me tomorrow for dinner. I look forward to meeting them."

Davos bowed sincere appreciation in his eyes. "Thank you, your Grace. You honor House Seaworth with your kindness." With that, he made his way out, leaving Daenerys alone. Letting out a breath of exhaustion, she rose herself and made her way out of the small council chambers. Her bloodriders met her in the corridors, surrounding Dany protectively. It was here that she truly missed Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan – Arya was becoming a trusted protector but… she could only be in one place at one time, and today it was with Jon. I shall need a proper Kingsguard soon. The Dothraki were loyal and skilled, but appearances mattered.

Crossing Aegon's High Hill towards Maegor's Holdfast, Daenerys couldn't help but gaze out over King's Landing. Marveling at the sort of sight her ancestors may have felt. Guilt still consumed her, but instead of despair, she merely poured her efforts into doing what she planned in the first place – forging a better world from the shit one the people always knew in the words of her beloved.

Already the rubble had been cleared away, crews of smallfolk hired with the riches of the Masters of Slaver's Bay rebuilding the Red Keep. Brick by brick, stone by stone, the walls came together again and the artisans of the capital – workshops spared by the fires – constructing the new emblems of Targaryen rule. Stained glass windows of Kings and Princes past or her personal favorite of a dragon protecting colorful eggs, the symbol of House Targaryen's rebirth. Already the freedmen of Meereen had gifted whole gold and silver three-headed dragons to adorn the walls. A glorious sight that did fill Daenerys with pride.

Such happened all over the city. The Dragonpit had been cleaned of sand and restored first, needing far less work. Without the dome that so restricted them, Drogon and Rhaegal finally had a place to nest without bringing fear to anyone who stepped foot inside the Red Keep. Roads and the city's gates were the next to be set upon by the road crews, taking up the majority of the three moons before Sansa's arrival. Only then did Dany tackle the castle at last. And only a fraction was rebuilt.

But despite the rebuilding of their home, Daenerys couldn't help but feel wrong. Her mornings were unusually horrid lately, every morning, and sometimes late evenings her stomach would churn uncomfortably like she needed to rid herself of whatever foods she'd eaten before. But she never could, she'd heave and retch but nothing would come forward.

Passing into the undamaged holdfast, Dany felt faint and had to rest against a column. "Khaleesi? Should I fetch the healer?" Rokharro asked.

Waiting till it passed, though the headache still pounded on her skull, Daenerys waved them off. "I just need my time with the Khal, qoy qoyi." The bloodriders laughed, taking it the most obscene of ways. She only gave a weak smile rather than banter with them as she usually would.

Their bawdy japes hit a bit close to home – right at the matter of her insatiable need for coupling.

Dany shivered at the thought, feeling her core grow hot at the idea. Gods, she needed Jon… she always needed Jon, only it was worse now. No matter how many times he obliged her, filled her, loved her, she couldn't seem to get enough to satiate her desires. And she grew ever more tired of it, she can see the doubt creeping into his eyes at times when he noticed his actions hadn't been enough to satiate her. No matter how many times she tried to reassure him, the fruits of said actions became less and less with time as Jon began to doubt what he did to her. It broke her heart.

Reaching her chambers, a disappointed hiss left Daenerys at the sight of the space empty, Jon nowhere to be found. What in the seven hells is going on? She wracked her mind. You'd think after several couplings a day I'd be satisfied! And it wasn't for lack of trying, he brought her over the edge every time, but it was still not enough to satisfy the craving inside her for him. He's a pulse in my veins now, a drug I'm incapable of refusing. She smiled, the revelation a beautiful one.

The smile turned to a yelp and an arm snuck around her waist, quickly turning her around. Her fear disappeared as soon as it came. "Well, well," Jon remarked, grey eyes twinkling as he looked her over. "What have I done to deserve such a gift in my chambers?"

Sighing happily, Daenerys melted into his arms. Nuzzling his chest. "Just being yourself, my King," she said, inhaling his scent. Jon smiled down at her, thoroughly enjoying his actions. Lightly smacking him from startling her, she quietly asked, "Were your duties completed, Jon?"

"Aye, Arya and I had no trouble. All the arrangements have been made for the Lords' arrival." He kissed the crown of her head. "Turns out there's another Lannister besides Tyrion."

This surprised Daenerys. "Who?"

"Tywin apparently had a sister who married one of Walder Frey's sons." The mere mention of his brother's killer made Jon's lips curl in disgust. "She has taken residence at Casterly Rock and is leading the Westerman delegation."

"Is she asking for anything from us?"

"Just one thing, Tyrion's freedom."

Daenerys hugged Jon tighter. "We'll discuss this later. Right now, I just want to be with you."

A naughty light filled his eyes as he grinned at her, and slowly he leaned down and kissed her. This kiss was not about the sex, the need for each other - this was a kiss of love, healing, and she breathed it in like it was an antidote to whatever ailed her. When they needed air, he broke the kiss sweetly, kissing her forehead and resting his own against hers.

"Always my love, and you?"

Her smile faltered, but she quickly fixed it before he could take notice.

"Of course, my dragon." He had taken to wearing black and red alongside his usual grey, and Dany thought he looked the epitome of their House. "When haven't I?"

He frowned and tucked the strands of hair behind her ear. Looking at her then, truly looking at her, Jon grew worried. She was paler than normal, and her body seemed thin yet large at the same time. "Are you ill, my love?"

"First Davos and then my bloodriders," Dany groaned. "I'm fine… just exhausted from all the stress."

Nodding, Jon didn't think that was the whole story. She was sick in the mornings and couldn't tolerate some of her favorite foods anymore… Suddenly he realized her affliction was not an ailment at all, but a thing to rejoice.

"Dany… When was your last moonblood?"

Shock and embarrassment flitted across her face, and timidly she answered him. "Before the ship… I think. Why?"

He laughed a joyous sound that made her smile. He lifted her in the air, spinning her as pure excitement filled his face. And suddenly she was laughing too, with no idea as to why.

"Well? Are you going to let me in on the joke my love?"

She was silenced by a kiss of delight and a hug, his hands resting on the small of her back.

"Dany, I think you may be several moons pregnant."

Two Moons Later

It was a cloudless day, far warmer than it had been the last time she was here in the same circumstances. Before the Long Night… before Jon.

"I cannot have children."

"Who told you that?"

As Drogon landed upon the walls of the Dragonpit – renovations obvious yet paused for what was being held that day – Daenerys looked over at Rhaegal doing the same thing. Jon astride her other child, the familiar sight of his handsome face and powerful build coaxing a smile from her at the memory of his words.

"Did it ever occur to you, that she may have been an unreliable source of information?"

Like many other times, her betrothed turned out to be quite right. Before climbing down Drogon's spines as Jon was doing beside them, Dany's hand went down to her growing belly. The swell of a child within just starting to be noticeable against her red and black dress – her child. Hers and Jon's.

Climbing down off Drogon, she found him extending his hand to help her down. Soon after disregarding everything and merely picking her up in his arms and setting her upon the ground. Dany giggled softly, her eyes meeting his. "Thank you."

All black armor with a red cloak about his shoulders, he looked like a true dragonrider. "No need to thank me, my Queen." Daenerys fell just a little bit more in love with Jon.

Hands weaving together, the two Targaryen Monarchs stood tall and walked to the raised platform that would hold the Grand Council of the three hundredth and sixth year after the Targaryen Conquest. Daenerys would give anything to not be here – in the bright wee hours of the morning and the cool, crisp air, it was nice but it numbed her nose and made her skin prickle. Sensing her shivers, Jon reached over to affix her grey cloak tighter around her shoulders, rubbing her hand with his thumb. He kept her from fleeing this wretched occasion and kept her from growing too stressed at the thought of the other Houses coming and giving them grief over her actions.

"Anything for you and our babe," he said about it. Behind, both Rhaegal and Drogon rested atop the sides of the Dragonpit, giving their own form of support. It was much appreciated and filled her with fire.

"My King and Queen." Grey Worm quickly bent the knee.

"My King and Queen." He was followed by Arya, rather resplendent in her Kingsguard armor.

My King and Queen." Davos, aging knees creaking, eased himself to the ground in respect.

Neither of them expected the rest to bend the knee, but were pleasantly surprised when someone else did. "My Queen… and King." Yara Greyjoy was dressed in leathers, comfortable, and strong. She still mourned her late brother Theon and dressed in black to show it, with a golden Kraken emblazoned on her chest plate. Her loyalty to Daenerys was still firm, though wary of Jon. Something that will have to soon change.

With their bloodriders standing behind the twin thrones flanked by large Targaryen banners, Jon and Daenerys took their seats – Arya took her place beside Jon and Grey Worm beside Dany, each stone-faced and prepared to handle any threat coming from the assembled Lords of Westeros. Not that Dany or Jon expected them to strike while the dragons were close by.

Each of the Seven Kingdoms were present, represented by their finest specimens and headed by their Lords and Ladies Paramount. Sansa Stark of the North, joined by Lady Alys Karstark, Wyman Manderly, and Howland Reed. Boisterous as always was Tormund of the Free Folk, his two Dothraki consorts cuddled close to him, each swollen with his children. Oh Tormund. Jon couldn't help but chuckle. It was clear the ginger warrior was restraining himself from sweeping Jon into a hug.

Edmure Tully of the Riverlands, joined by the ever feuding Tytos Blackwood and Jonos Bracken. The Greyjoys stood off to the side, while the dark, voluptuous beauty of Arianne Martell and the bannermen of Houses Dayne and Yronwood brought Dorne to the council. Robin Arryn had grown to a handsome young man, but Lords Royce and Corbray were there to make sure his still childlike mind didn't lead him to anything foolish. Gendry Baratheon looked like he wished Arya to sit beside him, but was still in conversation with Lords Selmy and Dondarrion. The great Lords of the Reach – Baelor Hightower, Paxter Redwyne, and the Lady Melissa Tarly – all gave cross looks at the oddity that is Bronn of the Blackwater. And unfortunately… The last of House Lannister joined Rolph Spicer and the brothers Crakehall. One by one, the last of the Great Houses had poured into the pit, all squirming nervously in their seats as the dragons arrived.

Both metaphorically and literally.

Clearing her throat, Daenerys began for both of them. Squeezing Jon's hand lovingly before speaking. "Welcome, lords and ladies of Westeros, to the first Grand Council in centuries," Daenerys spoke with muted authority, carefully weighing her words and checking her tone, giving no room for those among her to hate her further. "Given all that has happened since I landed in Westeros, there is much on our agenda."

"I wouldn't have noticed," Arianne Martell interrupted, earning a dark glower from Jon. Daenerys wasn't fazed… the woman didn't look hostile… but curious and arrogant. As if testing her.

She would pass this test, Daenerys resolved. "Princess Arianne, as the victor of the war between myself and the usurper Cersei Lannister." Visibly, Lady Genna Lannister winced… an issue to be addressed later. "King Aegon and I have decided out of magnanimity to consult with the lot of you before choosing a Small Council." Dany sighed. "But first things first, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, please step forward."

Frowning, the new Lord stepped forward and bowed gracefully. "How can I be of service, your Grace?" He rested his hand reflexively on his sword and smirked at the couple before him.

"It has come to my attention that Tyrion of House Lannister, my former Lord Hand, has gifted you lands and a title that was not his to give…" Bronn began to glare, knowing what was coming for him. "It is with great reluctance that I must remove those lands from your keeping, as at the time, Lord Tyrion had no rights to grant wealth or titles. I will, however, be replacing that which I have taken."

"Highgarden is mine, your Grace. Fairly bargained for… perhaps his Grace can inform you of how important it is to honor one's oaths."

Eyes falling on Jon, he didn't look amused at Bronn addressing him. "Be careful, Lord Bronn – I would think you'd jump at the chance to escape from underneath a realm that seems to despise you." The former sellsword flushed and swiveled back to his supposed bannermen. Hightower, Redwyne, and Tarly were simply staring straight ahead, expressionless. "In any case, an oath made under threat of death is not an oath. You rightfully should get nothing, but we are feeling generous today."

Accepting his fate, Bronn merely nodded. "I was still promised a castle from the crown. Since Cersei is dead, mayhaps the debt passes to the two of you."

"Unlike the usurper, we pay our debts." The perversion of the common saying of House Lannister made Dany smirk. "The Twins are without a Lord for some time."

"You mean that smelly piss-house?"

"If you mean the keep that holds the only bridge across the trident until the Ruby Ford, then yes."

Bronn had an entirely different outlook at that. "I thank you for your generosity, your Graces." He bent the knee. "For this, you have my undying fealty." Why shouldn't he give it? He had just become the wealthiest man in the Riverlands.

But addressing Bronn as if they had the authority to give and taketh away rankled some. Among them were the silently seething, or the mildly scheming, but it wasn't them that broached the state of affairs. No, that fell to a rather special sort daring or stupid enough to call out the dragons on their home ground.

Meanwhile

Edmure Tully was a very wise man… at least according to his own personal opinion. He'd seen the folly in the young wolf, the horror in his actions, and had happily executed him with the help of Roose Bolton. He had even gotten a wife out of it. What are you to do now you marvelous man? Now that the Dragon whore has united with the traitor king and demands a bent knee? Thinking hard, he suddenly realized not all the men of the North were happy with a woman being Warden of the North and even less thrilled at the Dragon Whore ruling them.

"Lord Royce, a word?"

Royce, sensing this conversation would not be a pleasant one, allowed Edmure to pull him to the back of the crowd where more northerners were. He was an honorable man, and he hated what the Starks were doing to the North just as much as the other rebellious bannermen. Rebellious. Such a word should never have been paired with him, he was honorable, wasn't he?

"Permit me to get right to the point my friend, I fear we may be forced to bend the knee here very shortly, and should the North reject this demand, would we count on the Vale to back us up?"

Lord Royce recoiled at first, but as Edmure suspected, he eventually came around to the idea. "I take it her Grace, the Lady Sansa, is as hateful of the idea as we are?" Edmure grinned, feeling vindicated and gleeful.

"But of course, she's been campaigning for a free North like we are for years, we can count on her vote."

"Then I do believe we have an accord, sir."

The two men made their way back into the crowded Dragonpit, where they were shocked to see Sansa nodding along in agreement to Daenerys's words. The Dragon Whore sat beside her King, hand in hand they regarded their guests with cooled warmth, both nervous of how the events today would play out. The two imbeciles listened to the airs the Queen put on, and the words of wisdom she spoke, with contempt. But when it came time to announce fealties, they discovered they had been very foolish.

Present Time

Eyes flickering to the silent Westerlands delegation, Daenerys analyzed Genna Lannister for the first time. It was clear that Tywin Lannister's sister had once been a great beauty, but age hadn't been kind. She had run too fat, but the green eyes still hid a sharp mind that rivaled her brother's. There was much to be concerned about her, but the way Daenerys read the last member of a dying family was that… she seemed exhausted of it all.

A feeling Daenerys knew well.

"Lady Lannister." Her words interrupted a rather heated discussion between her husband, Arya, and Lord Tully, all of them shutting up and resuming their seats. Genna blinked, surprised at being addressed. "I have heard that your husband passed away recently because of the shivers. You have my condolences."

The witty and bitter comebacks wrote themselves, but Genna merely took a breath. "Thank you, your Grace." Here sat a woman that endured it all, though there was none of the bitterness that consumed Cersei. Dany found herself respecting Genna. "I know there is no love lost between our families, but should you and the Lords of the Westerlands bend the knee, and swear loyalty to myself and his Grace, you can be granted certain requests."

"House Lannister is in no position to request favors from House Targaryen… or House Stark." Arya growled quietly. Cersei was dead, Joffrey was dead, but Jon looked at Arya and knew the anger for the lions still burned inside her. Honestly, Jon still blamed them all for the deaths of Ned and Robb. "But go ahead. We'll listen."

Genna nodded, knowing the reality of her situation. "My children are of House Frey, but they are Lannisters – born and raised in Casterly Rock. I ask that you legitimize them as part of House Lannister so that my House can live on."

Sharing a look with Daenerys, his betrothed nodded. "I see no issue with that," Jon replied. "Next?"

Mask slipping, the older matron looked… desperate. "Please spare my nephew."

Both Targaryens stiffened, Dany's lips taking a hard line while Jon's expression grew dark. "Tyrion is charged with treason, Lady Genna," Jon almost growled, teeth grinding together regardless. "Aside from the Late Lord Varys and… perhaps certain other participants." He didn't show it, but those of the Stark/Targaryen clan knew it to refer to Sansa – to which she knew most of all. "No one has had a more central role in the carnage that took place nor what…" Jon paused, a tiny croak of pain in his voice that only Dany noticed. That she banished away with a squeeze of his fingers. "What could have been an even greater tragedy. He deserves his fate."

Clasping her hands together, Genna leaned forward in a frantic plea. "My nephew is many things and perhaps you are true of his role in all of this, but I beg you to spare his life. Do not spill more blood by my family… they have suffered enough."

"And do you think my family hasn't suffered?" Daenerys snapped. "My sister and brother, torn apart in their nursery. My stepmother raped and split open. My uncle beheaded, my cousin and his wife and babe brutally slaughtered… as I recall, such was all the doing of your House, Lady Lannister." In the weeks that passed since the sentence was handed down, Jon's heart hardened. He had come so close to losing everything, what was once blind honor had turned into a pure fire – an urge to protect everything and everyone close to him. "Tyrion will die."

"Your Grace… have mercy."

"No." Jon snarled.

"Jon." It was a tiny whisper, one only Jon could hear, but it drew the fiery grey eyes in Dany's direction – them softening right as they came into contact with her violets. They held a silent plea too, one that he acquiesced. Quiet, the soon-to-be King leaned back in his chair, handing the floor to his betrothed. "If I spare him, you and the Lords of the Westerlands will bend the knee?"

Looking at Spicer and the brothers Crakehall, Genna nodded. "Yes, by the grace of the Seven, we would be under your command."

Daenerys stood. "Very well. If your nephew takes an oath of loyalty to his King and Queen, then I will commute his sentence of death… but be warned, Lady Lannister. One disloyal act and he will meet my dragon's flames." The Dragon Queen left no room for doubt in her intentions.

What the dragon monarchs were not expecting, was a voice to their left to speak up with obvious hesitance.

"I, Sansa of House Stark, Queen in the North, declare my fealty to House Targaryen. Under the condition that the North is accorded the same privileges as Dorne holds in autonomy and standing in the Realm, I gladly give my loyalty to the crown." She pledged her fealty with astounding ease, and looked very embarrassed about something while doing it.

"I… What?"

Daenerys stuttered, and the other two Starks looked at her as though she'd grown a separate head. "You better not be toying with us, sister," Arya said, voice dark. While she hoped her little intervention had worked out, she wouldn't have gambled on it.

Sansa carefully, and very clearly, repeated herself – eyes never leaving Arya's.

Enraged, Edmure Tully pushed forward. "WHAT?" Sansa turned and addressed the Riverlands Lord, who unfortunately wasn't hers to command into silence. He'd bent the knee to her, yes, but being a Head of House gave him rights to question her actions to a degree. Lord Edmure Tully shook with rage, and Lord Royce seemed appalled.

"Is there a problem, my lords?" Sansa's voice dripped with malice, and she was gratified to see the men gulp nervously as the dragons behind them began to catch on that something was amiss. Hooting, the two great monstrosities looked to their riders, who had tensed when the cry rang out.

"You'd give up the North so willingly? After you fought like hell to ensure your independence? Have you lost your mind?!"

"Lord Tully, may I remind you that we are here for a reason, not for you to get upset over the loss of whatever plan you had to take the North from Sansa." Jon's voice rang out like the sound of rung steel, making Edmure Tully flinch and step back. The fact that he didn't deny the accusation made Jon ponder the reality of it. Lady Martell stepped forward suddenly, accusation burning like wildfire in her eyes.

"I must concur with the Tully boy," She said loudly, earning a shout of indignation from Edmure. "It seems awfully convenient for them that you should give up your power so easily." Sansa sat forward, her blue eyes narrowing in controlled rage.

"What I do with my kingdom is none of your concern, but if you must know, we need the grain and the builders during the harshest months of the years to come. They have it, we do not. I'm not trading my power, I'm ensuring the survival of my people and the longevity of my reign."

The Martell woman grinned, liking the fire this young woman had inside her. Almost as much as she liked the grit and steel of the Queen.

"That makes one thing clear, but another demands immediate explanation. You burned the people of King's Landing, not that I care what happens to this shit-smelling city, but for the sake of Dorne I'd like to know why and if the rest of us are in danger of being burned alive too."

Daenerys gritted her teeth to stop the tears from coming – she'd never be rid of this, this fear from her people of the fear that she may live up to her Targaryen name, or at least the wrong side of it. Damn you Varys… damn you to the seven hells. Jon lovingly rubbed her hand, while a ponderous shaking brought her two children right behind her. Adding their heat to comfort her.

Resolve coursing through her, she looked at Arianne Martell and smiled sadly.

"I was poisoned, given Basilisk Blood for every meal in my wine for months by the late Lord Varys after he discovered Jon's true parentage. It doesn't condone my actions no, but it does help explain them." Clearing her throat, she looked at the Lords. "I apologize at length for the fear I have caused you, and the horrors I wrought upon the city of King's Landing, but I can assure you as long as you give me no reason to wage war, you will be safe. I can promise you this."

Arianne looked at her appraisingly, weighing the conviction of her words. When she found them wise and true, she slowly sank to one knee with her Bannermen behind her.

"I, Princess Arianne Martell, pledge my fealty to House Targaryen. Long may you reign."

"LONG MAY YOU REIGN!"

Slowly, one by one the rest of the lords did the same, if the Martells had pledged fealty – the house that stood steadfast against House Targaryen through invasions and dragons galore – surely there was good reason to. Before long, every lord, even Edmure Tully, had bent the knee and pledged fealty. With a triumphant roar, Drogon and Rhaegal took flight, and the royal couple stood. Stepping forward, proudly displaying her baby bump, Daenerys addressed the crowd.

"Lords and Ladies of Westeros, the King and I hereby pledge our fealty to you. We will ask no service of you that may bring dishonor to your families, and no declaration of war unless you agree to it. We hereby pledge to help you serve your people, now and always."

In the still of the night, while all except for the royal guard slept soundly, a great cracking sounded in a small room lit by candles, and a brazier filled with eggs. Daenerys had put the six eggs that her Unsullied had found into the biggest brazier her guard could find, and then kept it lit day and night. She hoped the dragons would hatch, one by one. At the sound of the cracking, he turned and found the first figure of authority he could find… Ser Daemon Sand, the newest ordained member of the Kingsguard. It wasn't long before he was looking for the royal chambers, intending to rouse the queen and the king. They would not want to miss the birth of a new hatchling.

The Queen and soon to be King were busy with another reunion within their chambers. Brought upon the boat with the Free Folk, the large white ball of fur knocked his master to the ground with a boisterous affection. "Ghost…" Jon stammered as the direwolf assaulted his face with licks. "I know… I'm glad to see you too."

Giggles from Daenerys were quickly noticed by Ghost, who trotted his large form over to her. Face large enough to reach Dany's neck. "I hope you remember me," Dany said, only to be rewarded by Ghost lowering his head and nuzzling her pregnant belly. She giggled, hands ruffling his soft fur. "I'll take that as a yes."

"He's a good judge of character," Jon laughed. The beast loved Dany, often spending more time with her in the North than with him. He was smarter than I was. "I suppose he could smell our babe."

She smiled wide, Ghost alternating between sniffing her stomach and his tongue lolling at her pets and scratches. "I don't think we should let him away anymore. We have our dragons, but you're a Stark as much as you are a Targaryen. Ghost is… a part of you."

Jon went to her and took Dany in his arms. "Of us." One hand scratching Ghost behind his ears, he kissed her temple while the other stroked the swell of their child.

It was then that Ser Daemon burst into their chambers. "Your Graces… an egg is hatching." Their eyes widened.

Daenerys ran as fast as her growing belly would allow, with Ghost bounding ahead and Jon hot on her heels. They arrived in time to see a glistening red dragon emerge from her shell, with silvery gold veins and webbing in her tiny wings, she was obviously the most beautiful dragon Daenerys had ever seen. Remembering her brother's tales of dragons, one look at the horns told her the baby dragon was in fact female. Her horns were shorter, more bluntly rounded than Drogon's had been when he was a newborn, and unlike he, her scales were bright and luminous in the torchlight.

"Jon… It's a female dragon!" she said with excitement.

Awe spread over Jon's face. "Aye, it is." Slowly approaching the hatchling, she wriggled around, trying to shake off the bits of eggshell still clinging to her. Reaching out, Jon scooped her up, earning a series of chirps.

Daenerys' heart melted at the sight, but the mood changed. Staring at Jon, sniffing him once, she shrieked once and began flapping her wings. It was too soon for her to fly but it was clear that she accepted the two of them but the bond wasn't there. Dany gazed worriedly as Jon put down the dragon on the heated bed of sand - she had never encountered a dragon that didn't want to be touched by those it has imprinted on, then the answer came as a flash of memory.

"Dragons know who their riders are at first glance sweet sister, you can't bond with a dragon who doesn't want you." Viserys' words rang through her like the song of beaten steel, and she immediately backed away for fear of making the dragon angry. "Their riders should name them, not their caretakers."

"Jon back away, we are not meant for this dragon. Someone else is."

Jon obeyed her, albeit reluctantly. And together they looked upon the new age of dragons, this creature that was fire incarnate. She was radiant, a magnificent embodiment of flame and beauty. But Jon couldn't deny the worry in his heart, if not them or their firstborn, who did the dragon belong to?


	6. Chapter Six: Dances with Darkness

Hello my lovelies! How was your weekend? I look forward to hearing about your weekends and what you think of this chapter, so please let me know your thoughts! You're much appreciated here and I look for the reviews every time I open this story! I know times are tough right now, but remember to breathe ok guys? It'll all be over soon! I love you all!

Hugs All Around!

BlackRose999

Firelilies were her favorite flower, the red petals slowly melting into a creamy white made her think of a summer sunset. One tucked into the complex braids of her hair, Daenerys looked stunning – dressed in a white winter gown with a red-black cloak hugging her shoulders. The white underclothes were visible under her thick white underdress with silver leaves embroidered into the fabric. Her over-robe was also a pale white, with silver filigree designs hand-sewn into the dress. The sleeves were long and flowy, with silken inner fabric.

A silver belt held the ensemble together, with silver tassel earrings in her ears to complete the look. Her gown featured a white fur trim, spreading out like wings across her shoulders.

A dragon ready to be wed.

"Are you ready, your Grace?" asked Davos, her Hand and the closest person she and Jon had to a father figure. A warm smile graced his face, Dany not knowing either if it was for them or his reunion with his wife and sons. Perhaps both.

Daenerys nodded. "Yes, I am."

"Then lets get a move on!" Arya was not one for delay. "Quicker this is over the quicker I can get this bloody dress off." Dany giggled – she wouldn't have any other sort of family.

Given both Northern and Dothraki custom, the wedding on Dragonstone castle would take place outside in Aegon's garden, where the groom waited for his bride to appear. Jon stood in front of the Weirwood sapling – a coronation gift from Lord Howland for the 'Son of the She-Wolf.' A little bit of his mother's blood and heritage for the dragonwolf, one that he greatly appreciated.

Looking out at the gathered guests of the noble houses or the smallfolk that made Dragonstone their home – all greatly loyal to House Targaryen even after so long – Jon found Sansa's eyes. Heartened at the small smile she directed at him. Let this family know peace.

Ghost stood beside him, his feet happily patting the ground. Jon had to smile at that one – he loved it when Ghost got excited. "I know boy, I'm anxious to see her too…" Anxious to wed her, anxious to meet our baby, and anxious to find out why a dragon has hatched.

Then he saw her, and his heart stopped. Arya led the procession looking stunning in a grey and white dress – one that drew Gendry's notice no doubt – but Jon only had eyes for the radiant, and very pregnant, Daenerys being led by Ser Davos. Their eyes quickly met and hers welled up with joyful tears. She was his, body, mind, and soul. Nervously, her eyes flicked to Jon and her heart stopped. The knowledge that this was it, this was forever, made her heart tremble in anticipation. There was no room for fear in her heart now. Stepping forward on Ser Davos's arm, she allowed herself to be led through the sea of people to him. Her eyes never leaving Jon's, she extended her hand and accepted his waiting arm.

Davos melted back into the crowd, finding his wife, Marya. "What are you thinking, husband?" she whispered.

"Just proud. They came a long way."

The ceremony would be a mishmash of various traditions, as befitting an Empire that stretched from the Wall to Astapor. Leading the ceremony was High Priestess Kinvara, motioning for them to present their hands. Each did so with them resting on top of one another, and allowed Kinvara to tie the white silk ribbon around their hands, binding them together gently.

"We are gathered here today in the Light of the Seven, and the Old Gods, and the Lord of Light, to join Jon of House Snow, and Daenerys of House Targaryen in holy matrimony. May they be One flesh, One heart, One soul, now and forever."

Arya practically beamed with glee, while Davos wiped a tear from his aged eye, earning a squeeze of the hand from his wife. Hands folded over her lap, Sansa stared at the pair with new eyes. Seeing them as Jon's sister rather than the scheming claimant to the Crown of Winter… for the first time since, well, since she had known him, Jon looked happy. Truly and enthusiastically happy. Father would have loved to be here… Betrayed his king and risked his life out of love for his family. She bit her lip. Her father dying before her eyes continued to haunt Sansa's nightmares, and she had betrayed his legacy in the worst ways.

But perhaps the future could bring something better. It had for Jon.

Lady Kinvara, hands clasped together, addressed the crowd with conviction. "In these perilous times, the end of darkness leads us to the vital task of forging new alliances. Bloodlines must be remembered and recreated. In this life, you will need each other, be brave enough to fight when you must, and love while you can." If she held any discomfort at performing traditions of the Seven in this marriage, she did not show it. "Now, the groom will bring the bride under his own protection."

No need for a change of cloaks at this wedding... Davos thought. They're both of the same blood. Instead, Jon reached into the pocket of his trousers to take out a broach. It was a sparkling silver, one Gendry had forged for him – a snarling wolf of House Stark surrounded by three dragon heads of House Targaryen. "As the consummation of the Pact of Ice and Fire, I bring you under my eternal love and protection, Daenerys Targaryen." Hand trembling, he slowly pinned it to her red and black cloak, looking up to see tears in her sparkling eyes as they clasped their hands together.

While he yearned to kiss her, Jon demurred – the time would come.

And come it did. "Now, look upon each other in the everlasting flame of the Lord of Light and say the words that bind you forever."

Jon and Daenerys spoke at the same time, not breaking eye contact. Their hands tightly clasped together, they spoke the words softly, lovingly, and intimately.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger…"

"I am hers…"

"I am his…"

"And she is mine…"

"And he is mine…"

"This day till the end of my days."

But the floor was still theirs, for each wished to say something to each other. A departure from protocol, but Targaryens answered not to men nor gods. Jon spoke first, resisting the urge to tuck the strands of hair behind her ear.

"You shall never be lonely again, not while I live and breathe. All my life I thought I'd never find a woman to love me, to want me as wholly as you do. With you, I need no stars in the night to guide my way home to you, for you shine brighter than any of them." He squeezed her hands tight, willing for the pain of her past to evaporate from her soul. "You're my everything Daenerys, and I will guard you with my life, for you are my heart and soul. I am yours, and you are mine."

Daenerys shook from his words, her heart lifting with joy. She resisted the urge to kiss him then and there. I hope these words can mean exactly what I feel in my heart.

"When I was a girl," she began, looking only at him. "I always assumed I'd marry Viserys like my bloodline always demanded. And I was afraid, I did not want to be married at all, if it meant I was to marry him. But now, standing here with you, I've never been happier. I promise to be the joy in your life, to be your strength when yours fails, and to guard your heart and soul with my own." Dany felt she could melt into his grey eyes. "For you are my world, and I am yours… and you are mine."

Not wanting to wait for permission any longer they kissed, a type of kiss that stole one's breath and warmed one's soul. And when they parted, the entire room burst into cheers. Hand in hand, they turned to face their people, where their guards were smiling and clapping and the people cheered – Lords and the smallfolk of Dragonstone alike. Arya felt tears drip down her cheeks, she'd already been told about the pregnancy, and she knew about the birth of the new dragon. But she'd never known the depth of their love for each other, the depth of their devotion.

And today, she was proud to wear a dress… though having her sword and knife clipped to her belt did help.

Her own grin piercing and powerful, Kinvara motioned for two of her priests to bring forward two crowns. Both forged Valyrian steel ringlets - both bearing great histories. "In the sight of the Gods of Westeros and Essos, of all the peoples of the world that emerged from the dark night triumphant, I crown Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of Her Name." Gingerly, she took the crown of Jaehaerys I – found in the crypts of Dragonstone – and placed it upon her braided hair.

The moment she had been waiting for since the Red Wastes of Essos was before Daenerys, and damned if it didn't fill her with pride… but she knew that what truly mattered was that Jon was beside her.

Kinvara wasn't done. "I hereby crown King Aegon Lightbringer of House Targaryen, Sixth of His Name." Atop his dark curls came the crown of Aegon the Conqueror – delivered as a token of fealty by Princess Arianne. While Jon had wished Dany to have it, she demurred. He was as powerful a conqueror as she, and the crown of the less martial Conciliator was better in a political perspective.

"Long may they reign," Kinvara proclaimed.

"Long may they reign!" Arya cheered, bending the knee.

"Long may they reign!" Davos joined her, helping his wife to kneel.

"Long may they reign!" Sansa bent the knee as well, hoping she could do the right thing by her family.

"LONG MAY THEY REIGN!"

Later That Night

Breathless moans erupted from the mouth of the queen, her body aching in pleasure as he ravaged her. Kisses of fire, touches of electricity, and sounds that were sweeter than a bird's chirp. He had her against the bed now, pinning her beneath him and playing mercilessly with her clit. Squirming, she moaned hotly in his ear as he kissed her throat.

Through the walls the sounds of the continued revelry in the great hall. But the two lovers cared not to be among them, making their way to the royal bedchamber in Dragonstone, kissing, touching, and laughing all the way. Against the door now he kissed her, such devotion and need making her gasp with wanton desire. The swell of their babe had only seemed to encourage his lovemaking, for now, it was he who sought her out daily. With time, he got better at it. And gods… she loved teaching him.

An idea popped in her head, and with careful consideration, she found it to be more of a turn on that his touches. "Jon…" He grunted, suckling her pulse and only making her wetter. "Oh gods, Jon. Wait…"

He paused, not sure if she was fine or not, and looked at her worriedly. "Are you alright? Is it the baby?"

She smiled, kissing him gently, and cupped his cheek. Pushing him off her and easing him onto the bed, Dany slowly, deliberately took off her clothes without breaking eye contact, never once allowing him to touch her while she did so. She could see the need for her growing in both his breeches and his eyes, and when she finally straddled him he held her with such raw passion that it threatened to bring her to the edge.

His clothes were not carefully taken off like hers, they were yanked, pulled, and torn away from his body as if they burned him. And with one unsure look, he positioned himself to take her. Sensing Jon's apprehension, she gently slid herself down onto his cock, impaling herself with his full length in one slow motion. She understood his fears, she hadn't made love like this since she conquered Drogo in the bedroom and made her firstborn son, but she was not afraid. This was healing, loving desire, not desperation.

Rapture covered both their faces. Dany set the pace, slowly rocking her hips back and forth, relishing the feeling of him inside her. Soon her need for her release grew too much, and her slow and sensual pace grew erratic. She couldn't claim her release, but she knew how.

"Jon... Fuck me from behind… Please…"

He looked at her with concern, knowing about her past. "...Are you sure?"

"... Yes, my love."

Allowing her to get off him, he gently turned her over onto her stomach, lightly rubbing her ass as he positioned himself again at her ready entrance.

"If it's too much… Tell me and I'll stop."

With that, he gently eased into her, listening to her moan in pleasure. He was gentle at first, eager to please her and damn his own needs, but eventually, he began taking her harder, faster. He was slamming into her with such brutal force that he felt her quiver around his length in need, reaching forward he played with her clit as he fucked her, happily delaying his own release to ensure she reached hers first. As she climaxed, he felt her walls clamp down and drag out his own.

Spent, he pulled out of her and joined her on the bed, pulling her closer into a gentle cuddle. She was smiling, so she wasn't lost in her memory, which made him glad. He was afraid his actions and inability to control himself had made her uncomfortable, or worse. Kissing her nose and her forehead, he felt himself breathe easier as he pulled the blanket over them, shielding their bodies from the icy air.

"I love you."

He paused, looking at her stupidly. The words had yet to register, and he found himself watching her look at him with growing bemusement.

"You… You what?"

"I love you."

Jon held her tighter, kissing the brow of his Queen. His wife. The mother of his unborn babe. "I love you too, Daenerys."

"Promise?"

"Aye, I promise."

For the first time in their lives, they truly felt at home.

Meanwhile

"Back straight, head high my dear. Remember your posture."

Rhaenys gritted her teeth, snarling at the torture device he called a 'corset' that was making it impossible to breathe without making sure her body was perfectly straight. She wanted so badly to slouch, but she knew that if she did she'd be stuck with the corset for far longer until she learned to keep herself poised at all times.

"That's it darling, perfect. Keep it up."

Sweating, back aching, she held herself up straighter to keep the books on her head from falling. When she could take no more of it, he allowed her to stop. He allowed her to put the books away and rest in the tub, where he gently cleaned her still-healing wounds and marveled at the transformation she had undergone. Where there were once ribs showing, there was now smooth caramel skin, where there were once matted hair and sunken eyes, there was now glossy and luminous dark brown hair and eyes a vibrant violet.

Incredible, what a little bit of love can do…

When she was cleaned and ready to begin, he put a bow in her hands and made her practice until her fingers refused to open and her eyes refused to focus. Before too long, she was a better archer than most of his guards. He upped the stakes constantly, even going so far as taking away food if she couldn't hit a moving target in the bullseye, until she could shoot a target dead on without looking. Then he moved to swordsmanship, giving her a dulled wooden scimitar and telling his men they were not to hold back, they were to beat her down until she could fight with the best of them.

Three months to learn how to wield one, and three weeks to learn how to roll with the blows and come up on her feet. She learns slowly that one, but once she has it, she has it.

"Move your feet girl, always be moving! Don't stand there gawking like pigeon, or I knock you down again!" Alberich snarled at her, forcing her to move backward with his swing. He stepped forwards, stomping mercilessly on her toes when she didn't move fast enough to evade him. Alberich was his finest bladesman, he was better than any of them and he treated her like any of his soldiers, and when needed he smacked her with the flat of his 'blade' to drive a point home.

"MOVE. YOUR. FEET!" He swung again, and this time he hit her. She'd live, but with a bruise that size he knew she'd likely move faster. "We're done, you no good, don't work hard enough." He growled in broken common tongue, and she snapped. "AGAIN. I'm not dumb and we're not done!" She swung this time, and with a grunt he took the blow to the wrist, feeling it deaden and drop the sword.

"Good hit. Dead arm now, but I was not moving. Not good enough yet."

She smiled, then winced as he smacked her again.

"That's enough, Alberich." Waddling from his immense bulk, Illyrio nonetheless had a jolliness about him – one that put Rhaenys at ease. "The Princess will be accompanying me for a walk in the gardens. That will be enough for her lessons today."

Alberich bowed. "Of course, Magistrar."

Illyrio kept a beautiful garden, filled with the most beautiful Gingko and fruit trees. Rhaenys helped herself to a tangerine growing plump from the fertile soil – biting into it, tart juices flowing down the sides of her mouth. It tasted heavenly.

"You've improved greatly, Princess. Soon, you'll be as powerful as Princess Nymeria, or Queen Visenya."

She wanted to be modest, but was unable not to feel proud – she had earned it. "Perhaps I will." But her smile turned to a frown. "Why are you training me?"

He sighed. "There are those that wish for you to reclaim your birthright, and I happen to agree with them." He gestured to a stone bench for them to sit at. "There are… great disturbances in Westeros, ones that many wish to set to rights. Unlike the rule of the Lannister or the Baratheon, they only seek one of the dragon to remove the usurpers."

Rhaenys' frown deepened. "You mean my aunt and half-brother." She was under no delusions as to who ruled, of her captors oftentimes complaining about first her aunt, and then the both of them. Why didn't they rescue me? Often she dreamed of Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons burning all of her tormentors, a member of her family that could love her as her father and mother did in the earliest memories she had… but it never came to pass.

Longing turned to resentment.

Resentment turned to hate.

Illyrio nodded. "I need not tell you what they did to the city of your ancestor the conqueror."

"I heard that my supposed half-brother was the bastard son of Ned Stark. Is this true?"

"Yes."

Rhaenys snorted. "Of course. A usurper." When would the Starks stop destroying everything her family held dear? "How soon can my campaign begin?" she asked with determination in her voice.

Chuckling, Illyrio patted her knee. "Soon, my dear. One thing at a time."

The Next Morning

Without a word, a servant laid a plate of fruit, cheese, and steaming bacon upon the table, joining the bowl of porridge already there. "Your morning meal, Lady Stark."

Sansa nodded, smiling softly at the servant before delicately snapping bits of the bacon into the bowl. Savoring the smell of the delicious meal laid out before her. As an entire strip of the cured pork made its way into the porridge, she took a spoonful. Eager to break her fast and fill her empty stomach. "Mmm… that is good."

"Uuggggh." Across from her, Arya groaned. "Can you not speak so loudly?" she murmured, hands cupping her face as she tried not to simply collapse upon the table and pray for death.

Wrinkling her nose, Sansa cocked her head in amusement. "And what's gotten you in such a mood?"

"Don't mind her." Seated beside her, Gendry draped an arm around Arya's shoulders. His voice was in a gentle whisper – something not unnoticed or unappreciated by his lover. "She had a little too much to drink at the feast."

"I should say so." Her smirk only widened, continuing to eat her fill. "I recall my baby sister dancing upon the dining tables, demanding someone to challenge her to a sparring contest."

"Didn't Tormund accept, only to keel over?" Gendry chortled, breaking a strip of crusty bread and smearing goat cheese on it. "I told both of them not to drink the Dothraki liquor. I took a sip and couldn't speak for a quarter hour."

Yet another groan left Arya. "I hate you both!" Even a tiny bit of yelling made her wince, tears pricking her eyes.

"Now, now. Wasn't it you that said the Pack needs to stick together?"

At the new voice, Gendry stood. Chair scraping against the tiled floor as he bowed. "Your Grace."

Jon rolled his eyes. "You're practically family, Gendry. You do not need to be formal in private." Stretching his arms out, he then ruffled Arya's haphazard hair, causing her to try and bat him away. His eyes turned to Sansa. "Sansa."

Sansa smiled awkwardly. "Jon… where is Daenerys?"

"Right here." The Queen chose that moment to enter the private dining chamber, hands clasped together and the picture of radiance with a black and red dress – hair falling down across her shoulders in gentle waves. Apart from Jon, it was likely the first time anyone had seen her hair styled in anything but the Dothraki war braids. It made her look more… approachable yet no less beautiful. "Forgive us for being tardy. We…" She looked at Jon, eyes sparkling. "Lost track of time."

Eying the Queen with a… scrutinizing eye, Sansa took in the twinkle in her gaze. The ever so gingerly manner in which she walked. Slowly and haltingly. "Oh, I have no doubt you did on the morning following your wedding… or your wedding night, rather." Daenerys grinned without embarrassment, while Jon flushed red and coughed, drawing out a laugh even from the quiet Gendry.

Arya wasn't laughing. "Stop with the noise… I'm dying here."

Daenerys waved over the servants. "Some hot tea for Commander Arya, and bread and porridge for his Grace and I."

"Right away, your Grace," the lead servant bowed, rushing off to complete the order.

A half-hour hence, as Dany alluded, the tea managed to help Arya greatly, she no longer looked like death warmed over. Jon and Gendry were in the middle of a discussion about proper sparring strategies as an expert swordsman and a master with a warhammer respectively, while Dany engaged Sansa in what the North would need to rebuild from the Long Night. For the Lady of Winterfell, all seemed quite domestic and… welcome. Almost as if the family had private meals before all of this started, different situation but the same feeling of belonging.

Cersei was wrong. Power and influence paled in comparison to what this was… the bitter lioness had none of it, so Sansa reasoned it wasn't hard to miss it. Only now did she realize that she truly did.

The door then opened not to reveal another servant, but Grey Worm. He proceeded straight to Daenerys. "Dispatch from Winterfell, your Grace."

With a raised eyebrow, Daenerys took the ravenscroll, scanning it quickly. Everyone noticed her eyes darkening, dragonfire blazing within. "Dany?" Jon asked, concerned. All around, the Starks paled at what it could be. At reading it for himself, the King slammed his fist on the tabletop. "That cowardly fucker!"

"Jon, what is going on?" Sansa asked with alarm. When neither of them immediately responded, she stood. "I am the Wardeness of the North. I deserve to know."

It was Dany that answered for him. "Lord Glover has declared himself King in the North." Arya gasped, while Sansa went pale. "He's marching on Winterfell with a large host… the only force in the North untouched by the Long Night."

"What are you to do?" Gendry asked, the most even of all of them.

"Grey Worm, have the provisions packed for the dragons," Jon hissed, the Unsullied commander nodding. "And send ravens for the Dothraki to march North."

"We'll have to call the banners. Move the Reach by sea… they haven't committed themselves."

Everything was moving too fast for Sansa to process. "What are you to do to them?" she asked.

Dany stared at her, a dangerous glint in her eye. "Fire and blood."


	7. Chapter Seven: Kindred Spirits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BlackRose: Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait, but here's the next chapter. Now, I'm gonna be honest with you, the next chapter might take a while. My girlfriend just had abdominal surgery to remove her gallbladder and I stupidly broke my foot a few days ago... So I'm walking with a cast and trying to take care of my girlfriend at the same time... Super fun!
> 
> Longclaw: Hi all. Some exciting times and some sweet times in this chapter. Hope you enjoy.

Drogon hooted above the clouds, trumpeting his glee at flying with his mother, father, and brother. He flapped hard, wingbeats increasing his speed – he had every reason to be excited. For the first time since Viserion died, there were three dragons again. Soon he would fly with the newcomer both dragons knew was there and it thrilled him. It thrilled all three that were with him too, he could feel it through their bond.

Good thing the furry wolf was watching over their newest sister. _Muna_ and _Kepa_ trusted no one else.

Around him, the cold air of the northern dusk assaulted the natural warmth of his blood and scales, but Drogon could sense a change. It was beginning to warm as the weeks progressed, a sign that the malevolent winter they had experienced was fading fast. Normally the winters of Westeros stayed for several years, but every now and again they’d encounter a short winter that only lasts for three years or so. It appeared that this was one of those times.

Chirping, he tried to drop into a dive to race with his brother, but he was annoyed when his mother's bond chastised him for it. ‘ _Daor yet ñuha jorrāelagon, emi mirros naejot gaomagon ēlī.’_ Drogon snorted irritably but complied nonetheless to his mother’s wishes. He fell silent as he felt the anticipation and growing displeasure mounting from his parents, knowing they needed the silence for whatever they were doing. The air was colder than he liked, but he didn’t mind as the fire inside him burned hot enough to keep his scales almost unbearably hot, to anyone but a Targaryen the heat would burn their skin immediately. _Fire cannot kill a dragon._

 _Muna_ didn’t burn… _Kepa_ didn’t burn. He should have known who the one once called Jon Snow was from the moment he stroked his snout on the cliffs of Dragonstone. Perhaps if he had, then all of them would have been happier from the outset.

But as _Muna_ said, if they looked back they were lost. Best concentrate on the future, and right now the task at hand.

Dancing in the air silently, he lowered them into the clouds and stopped his descent just below them, giving them ample coverage. Winterfell was as desolate and beautiful – albeit a rustic, simple beauty quite similar to Dragonstone – as ever. The keep and walls showed signs of a slow but sure rebuilding after the battle, but that was nothing compared to the thousands of hostile men that had taken his father's home. Men were camped everywhere, with campfires blazing in every direction the eye could see. Their numbers must have been large, because he felt his mother's hands tighten on his scales, and he braced himself for the dive and the flames he was surely about to enter.

“Dany! Not yet!”

His father’s voice cut through the air, and suddenly her hands softened on his scales and her legs loosened from their diving position. Without a word, she angled Drogon away.  
Towards the other keep not far away that their forces had set up as their base of operations. Only a small force resided there currently, but more and more would soon show up – men that would see those that did the Targaryens harm be annihilated.

A shout caught his attention, as well as a faint noise rapidly approaching that he would recognize anywhere. Without even time to roar, Drogon instinctively banked hard. The screaming bolt from one of those damned Scorpions shot past his torso, just scraping his scales. A roar answered it, Drogon burning with rage at his tormentors – defiant.

Atop his back, Daenerys quaked in fear. She was seven moons pregnant and couldn’t risk fighting in the dark with them knowing she was here. “Drogon, let’s get out of here…”

But as she spoke another bolt shot past them, and with a screech of agony he felt one strike home and embed itself in his tail. Beside him, another roar of pain made Dany’s blood run cold as Rhaegal was hit, a glancing but ripping shallow gash in his side. Through their bond, she could feel Jon tremble with rage at the cries of his children and the fear she felt.

One good shot, and it was game over for them, they would not survive the fall.

Thinking quickly, he angled Rhaegal to push Drogon into the clouds once more, hoping to hide amongst the thick cover. Another bolt hit Rhaegal, deadening his leg, and he screeched in such pain it made Jon want to retch. He pushed Rhaegal faster, higher, desperate to protect his children and his wife as Drogon kept pace with them.

With some strain of luck, he managed to hide them in the clouds and keep them from getting hit further. The flight back was painful for everyone, and when they reached familiar and friendly territory they landed and saw to the bolts in the dragon's bodies. Pulling the bolts was hard, and he refused to let Daenerys help with her swollen belly, so they took time to pull. Neither dragon allowed any of Lord Cerwyn’s men to approach them. Only Ghost dared to approach, safe in the knowledge that neither his parents nor his younger brothers would harm him.

The direwolf was older than both great dragons, after all.

Eventually, both had curled up on the ground in a fitful sleep – harmed, but out of the woods. As soon as they could, Jon enveloped Dany into an embrace. “Are you alright?” He cupped her cheek. “Look at me, love.” Daenerys pulled his hands from her face, motioning to the bolt just yanked out of Rhaegal’s leg. “I’m alright for now, he, however, is not.”

Rhaegal hooted, trumpeting his pain and happiness at evading death once again. He lifted his wings and shook them a little, letting the air cool the heat of his wounds. Blood trickled like a river down his leg, and it worried Jon, he wasn’t sure how much blood loss would be deemed fatal, let alone where his major arteries were. Perhaps he’d been hit there by accident, what would they do then?

His leg still limp, he worried about the ramifications of their flight. Chirping sadly, he looked at his _Kepa_ with what could only be anxiousness.

“I know buddy, we’ll get it figured out.” Gently, Jon stroked the dragon’s snout, earning a contented growl in response. “You’ll be alright.” He felt Ghost press himself against his side, curling around and trying to comfort Jon. With Dany close by, Jon never felt more loved… nor more fearful of those he did love.

“Your Grace.” The comforting moment was burst as Lord Cley Cerwyn approached hesitantly, joined by Ladies Alys Karstark and Wylla Manderly – given the many deaths out of the various wars fought over the last two decades, Daenerys couldn’t count the various houses now headed by women. If not for the loss that preceded it, she was heartened to see other strong women much like her. “We received a raven from Barrowtown. The Dothraki have reached it.”

Nodding, Daenerys touched Drogon’s snout. _“I have to go, my son. Please keep your brother company for us.”_ Drogon’s throat rumbled, as if acknowledging her command. “Jon, let’s head back.” Not bothering anymore to hide their affections, she tangled her fingers with his as they trudged through the snow, Ghost bounding ahead of them. “What of the Dornish spears and the Hightowers?”

Wylla, the new Lady of White Harbor after her father and grandfather’s deaths in the Long Night, spoke up. “My sister reports three dozen ships have made dock – bearing the flag of House Martell. No word of the Hightowers, though.”

“Southern cunts,” mumbled Alys Karstark. Married to the Magnar of the Thenns, she had quickly adopted the less… demure vocabulary that many Free Folk women used. “They couldn’t bother to help us in our time of need.”

“Which is why we asked them North instead of the Unsullied… or the Vale,” Jon replied. “If they fight honorably, then we’ll be sure of their loyalty.” Dany looked at him as they approached the gate of Castle Cerwyn, quite impressed. He would truly be as great a King as he was a warrior… or a lover, she thought with a blush. “The Glovers have set up scorpions in Winterfell itself, undoubtedly smuggled from somewhere where the House of the Dragon isn’t popular.”

Lord Cerwyn winced. “They have two thousand fresh men, unbloodied by the war against the dead. What forces we have left barely outnumber that – enough to besiege the place but otherwise outmatched against prepared defenses. Perhaps the dragons…”

Daenerys shook her head. Guards in Stark colors came to attention as they passed through the gatehouse, Targaryen and Stark banners outnumbering those of House Cerwyn in the keep for the moment. “We’re not risking our last two dragons, especially against the ancestral seat of House Stark.” The third hatchling… the entire Small Council agreed she should be a closely guarded secret. “Besides, my goodbrother is hostage within the walls. We aren’t going to risk his life.” Jon squeezed her hand – both were worried of Bran.

“Understood, your Grace.” Cerwyn motioned to his castellan to fetch someone. “In any case, someone else has arrived with their house’s forces.

Jon did not recognize the young, slender woman but did recognize the lizard-lion sigil on her surcoat. “Meera Reed.”

The daughter and heir to Howland Reed – leading the Crannogmen to the call of their monarchs and Liege Lady in her father’s stead – bent the knee. “Your Grace’s.” at Dany’s beckoning, she rose. “I ask my leave to say… is Bran truly hostage in the keep?” Jon and Dany both noticed the dread in her expression. Dread and… longing.

At Jon’s sigh, that dread turned into agony.

* * *

The Red Keep was hazy in her memories. Only three namedays past her birth when the entirety of her life had collapsed in a blurry flash of chaos and sobs. Her mother gone, her father gone… thrust into a life of pain and agony that made her strong. Able to push aside the pain that her past joy at the hands of the beautiful Dornishwoman that was her mother and the laughing Prince that was her father. But the Red Keep stuck with her, and she knew that it’s ancient walls couldn’t compare with the majesty of the Iron Bank of Braavos. High vaulted walls, rounded dome inlaid with gold leaf and polished marble… even a hardened woman such as her could find beauty in it.

“Allow me to speak first, your Grace,” stated Illyrio, her flinch at his touch on her shoulder growing less drastic every day along with her strength and control. She simply felt an instinctual revulsion. She wasn’t about to trust him yet, even if he was her protector. “These bankers… they are dangerous people.”

“So am I, Magistrar,” Rhaenys replied simply.

“That you are, but not in the same manner that they are. One way or another they get their gold back… which I suppose is why they’re entertaining our claim.”

Her eyebrow rose. “The usurpers owe them?”

His eyes twinkled with mirth. “No, Cersei Lannister does, or did. That’s our opening.”

Before Rhaenys could open her mouth again, the doors behind the large chairs – essentially thrones but angular and without the gilt most royal courts would hold. Three figures in simple silk doublets entered, taking seats across from the now standing Rhaenys and Illyrio. In the center was a clean-shaven man with a perpetually tight face. His eyes were narrow, almost like a weasel… but they contained a sparkling intelligence behind them. A consummate bureaucrat. “Administrator Nestoris.”

“Magistrar Illyrio. I did not expect you to arrive here – is Pentos strapped for gold because of the harsh winter’s harvest?” The beady eyes of Tycho Nestoris looked over at Rhaenys. “And who is this?”

The fat merchant smiled, displaying a set of rotten teeth. “You are looking at Rhaenys Targaryen, Second of Her Name, Rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

While the two other bankers were shocked, Nestoris didn’t give anyone away. “Well… you take after your mother in looks, your Grace.” He gestured for them all to take seats. “But you have your father’s eyes, glinting Valyrian ones. I hear that your supposed half-brother doesn’t have a trace of Valyrian features to his name.”

She nodded, face as impassive as his. Looking along the marble halls of the Iron Bank, ceiling-high and imposing in the simplest of styles - the traditional style of Andalos, adopted by the runaway Valyrian slaves that fled from the encroaching Freehold. "The usurper has very little claim to actually be my brother,” she finally said, having waited long enough to disquiet Nestoris… silence had enraged her captors, and Rhaenys had learned the advantages of it to those that could not harm her… not that she’d let anyone do so again. “But he rides a dragon, and has my aunt’s backing.

“Ah yes, Queen Daenerys.” He leaned back, though impeccably straight. “She controls the Seven Kingdoms without challenge.”

“Her challenge sits right before you…” Illyrio interjected. “The rightful heir of Rhaegar Targaryen. According to the laws of the Great Council of 101 AC, the female child of the heir has precedence over the younger female child of a grandsire King.”

“But behind that of any male heir.”

“The so-called Aegon VI Targaryen is in actuality Jon Snow, bastard son of Eddard Stark and Ashara Dayne. He has no claim to the throne independent of his wife the usurper Daenerys, and her claim is less than Queen Rhaenys’.” Illyrio leans forward. “For your financing, I offer the promise of recouping all of your losses quite quickly, and in multiples.”

The banker raised an eyebrow. “Against two dragons? I find that hard to believe.” The skin of his face almost threatened to split apart from how tight his smile was.

But Illyrio could smile as well. “There is a rebellion in the North, which captured Jon Snow’s home of Winterfell. My sources say that the Glover Rebels injured one of the dragons.”

"Be that as it may,” chortled one of the other bankers, a rather fat man. “This skinny, young girl would never be a threat even to a bastard…” Suddenly his hand, which had been raised in scolding, slammed against the back of the chair. Knife having nailed it to the thick wood. “Fuck! You cunt!”

Rhaenys leaned back, clasping her hands together after tossing the knife hidden in the sleeves of her long dress. “You sure about that, my Lord?"

Nestoris, chuckling, was quite amused. “The story of your aunt is that no woman should be underestimated. The Great Masters did, and she killed them all. The Faith Militant underestimated Cersei Lannister, and she destroyed the Sept of Baelor in a gout of wildfire. And whatever happened to Lord Petyr Baelish, I am sure he underestimated Sansa and Arya Stark because of their sex.” He met the Princess’ eyes. “But let me inform you of the nature of cyvasse, only with us as the pieces." He seemed to be enjoying himself even though not one actual emotion crossed her face. "It is an enjoyable game, but not when the stakes involve millions of gold dragons… or lives, considering what the Dragon Queen does to her foes."

“That is true… there is a risk.” Illyrio looked at Rhaenys, eyes twinkling with a hidden knowledge. “But how much gold did your vaults rake in before Daenerys ended slavery in Slaver’s Bay?” There was a silence from Nestoris, while Rhaenys blinked in confusion. _What?_ Given what happened to her, Rhaenys considered the emancipation of the Ghiscari slaves as one positive thing her usurping aunt did. She planned to continue when sitting on the iron throne. “How much gold did you lose from the investment of Cersei Lannister’s doomed campaign.”

“Bank business isn’t something to be told to outsiders.”

Illyrio grinned. “How would you like to get it all back… with interest? In fact… how would you like for the Iron Bank to control the entire slave trade once Daenerys is defeated and Slaver’s Bay is liberated from the dragons?”

Whatever he was doing or saying, Rhaenys knew at that moment that the oily banker was hooked.

Yet her trust of Illyrio continued to wane.

* * *

Tomorrow.

One day and night till they rode for Winterfell at the head of the last of Baelor Hightower’s large host, fresh troops untainted by the war and death that ripped through Westeros. And to say Daenerys was feeling restless was an understatement. The worries of yet another war that had already wounded her children, not to mention the life of her unborn babe… it gnawed at her.

Babe tiring her out within her womb, Dany had practically pulled Jon to their bed in Lord Cerwyn’s guest chambers, begging him to hold her as she slept. Pregnancy had made her quite tire, and his touch took away her worries. Eyes fluttering open, a warm smile curved on her face as she stretched her naked body. His closeness was quite a draw, and one thing had led to another – sleep came much later as the two of them stripped their clothes and woke the dragon, never breaking the hungry kiss the newlyweds engaged in. _Jon always knows how to play me like a fiddle._

But much to her displeasure, his warm body wasn’t pressed up behind her. Groaning, Dany hauled herself into a sitting position, bringing the furs to cover her chest. There was her handsome husband by the dressing table. He had just finished tying his cloak round his shoulders. Their eyes met, and from the anguish in them she knew exactly where he was going. “Rhaegal?”

“Aye.”

Daenerys bit her lip. “He’s still refusing to fly?” Jon nodded, going to the door. He opened it, but not to leave – instead to let in the puff of white fur who promptly bounded on the bed and laid beside Dany. She couldn’t help but smile. “Missed your _muna_ , Ghost?” He responded by licking her cheek before resting his head upon the pillow.

Jon chuckled dryly at the affection between his direwolf and his wife. He gently sat by her legs, hand moving under the furs to stroke her swell. “He does refuse, though his wings are undamaged. Our son is… sad.”

Wracking her mind quickly, Dany tried to remember Viserys’ words on dragon anatomy… but she came up with nothing. She had often noticed the way he was holding his leg, the way it was positioned, and then she realized something horrible. “What if the wound is permanent? The one on his leg?” How would her child walk then? In the weeks it took the troops to arrive, Rhaegal’s scar healed and closed. It was a deep, jagged wound that caused him great pain for many days. Rhaegal seemed to fall into a deep depression, his heart aching for the loss of the use of one limb. “Gods…”

“I know, Dany. I know.” Wordlessly, he leaned down to kiss her gently on the lips, a kiss that she deepened. Unable not to. “I think I know something that will work. Rhaegal needs to know that I understand his pain.”

Pressing their lips together one more time, Dany rested her forehead against his. Knowing he was right… she and Drogon shared the struggle of learning when and when not to use their inner fire, of embracing or tempering their house words. It bonded them deeply, and Jon and Rhaegal would need to do the same. “I love you,” she said.

Stroking her pregnant belly, Jon nodded. “I love you too.”

Before he knew it, Jon trudged in the snowy fields outside Castle Cerwyn. Approaching the already carcass strewn patch of land where the dragons made their temporary nest. _Just like my first ride… though at least Dany was with me then._ Raising his head, Drogon’s amber eyes bored into him. ‘ _Muna sent you?’_ The dragon asked.

_‘She knows I’m here, but it was my idea.’_

Drogon hooted in response. _‘Take care of him, kepa. We’re all we have.’_ He unfurled his wings and took to the skies, revealing the curled green form of Jon’s mount resting in the snow. Listless and depressed.

Jon’s heart broke for him, gradually approaching the scaly creature with naught but a cloak, pair of boots, breeches, and a loose undershirt on. It was still frightfully cold out, but the heat the dragon gave of made it bearable.

“Rhaegal? Hey buddy, look at me.”

Lazily, the green beast turned his head and huffed. Jon slowly pulled off his undershirt, exposing the various scars on his torso, and the large crescent-moon shaped scar over his heart. Rhaegal seemed to jerk back, surprised at the scar. He then moved and sniffed his chest, mournfully humming at him. _‘Kepa…’_

Jon smiled ruefully. “You know what this means, my son.”

He understood the fatality of those scars, and mourned the near loss of his _Kepa_. _‘You… you couldn’t have survived.’_

“No. I did not.” He reached out, stroking the green scales with the deepest affection. “We’re one and the same, Rhaegal. “We can lose ourselves in pain, but we can also find ourselves in pain too. Don’t let it drown you, my son…” He touched his snout, rubbing the words into his body. Willing him to believe it, and slowly, the life came back into him. Rhaegal poked his snout closer to Jon, almost like Ghost when he demanded nuzzles and scratches.

_I won’t let them hurt you… I won’t let them hurt any of you._

From the walls of the castle, Dany watched the scene, ruffling Ghost’s head beside her with a smile. Rhaegal was coming back to himself, lowering his wings and allowing Jon to mount him. Ascending into the sky with a roar and chasing after his brother, eager to play with Drogon again. And as her heart lifted for Rhaegal, it began to sink for Jon. It was subtle, but since King’s Landing something seemed to change within him, - a wave of deep-rooted anger that he kept pressed down as far as he could, it seemed so easy for him to let it start to drown him.

She worried about him, but it appeared he had a handle on it, so she said nothing.

The sound of footfalls made her jump slightly, then relax as it was only Arya. Dany chided herself for being so on edge… but with so much for her to lose, hand instinctively cupping her belly swollen with their child, she couldn’t risk anything. “Sister,” she said, noticing someone behind her. “Lady Reed.”

“Your Grace,” the heir to Greywater Watch replied, bowing.

“Daenerys,” Arya grunted. Beyond her gruff exterior, she bit her lip and looked out at Jon. “Is he alright?”

“Aye,” Dany replied. “He’s just worried about Rhaegal. We all are.”

“He loves that dragon… as much as I love Nymeria.” After so long, the direwolf had emerged out of nowhere to rejoin Arya just north of the Neck, as if sensing that the Commander of the Kingsguard needed her. _Dragons and direwolves… the magic courses through their blood, as with ours._ “In any case, I have something that can cheer him up. You as well.”

Dany raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

Clearing her throat, Meera rubbed her hands together. “Your goodbrother, he’s been… communicating with me.” At the confused look on the Queen’s face, Meera sighed. “Don’t ask me how. I barely understand it myself.”

“Alright… what has he told you?”

Meera blushed slightly. There were some things said that she would keep to herself. “Dispositions of the Glover forces within the keep, along with the positions of all scorpions.” While Jon was the military tactician, Daenerys could tell how important such information would be.

“Meera and I have come up with an infiltration plan, to get Bran out,” Arya said.

Looking back out at her love and dragons, Daenerys’ eyes hardened. “How many men do you need?”

“Just the two of us and Gendry… after, you’ll know what to do.” In this, Arya was supremely correct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longclaw: Rhaenys is starting to come into her own as a leader and schemer... very much a looming threat for Dany and Jon.


	8. Blood Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BlackRose: Good Evening my lovelies
> 
> How was your day?
> 
> Sorry for the long wait, but as promised here's the update. My gf and I are both fine and healing well, so thanks for the support :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Whet stone held tightly in his gnarled hands, Robett Glover slowly glided his knife along the face. It almost screeched as the metal sharpened against the stone – back and forth, push and pull. A constant motion to try and create the proper edge that Valyrian steel possessed naturally. “Never learned this while growin’ up, lad?”

Bran Stark, wheelchair parked right next to the flames as was wont of him, didn’t say anything. He rarely talked anymore. No one remained within the walls of Winterfell that he was willing to speak to, let alone the man that took him captive.

As their ‘discussions’ usually went, Lord Glover answered his own question. “Course ya’ didn’t. Ya’ fell from the tower and crippled yourself before you could… damn shame. Like Yer brother, you’d have been a strong Northern warrior.” He sharpened the blade again. “Perhaps after all of this is done and the North is free, someone could teach you. Be somewhat like your father.”

Face blank, Bran broke his silence to tilt his head and angle his grey eyes directly at the Lord of Deepwood Motte. “Father never had to sharpen his blade. Valyrian steel… as a dragon, it resists nearly all.” Even the pull of the Three-Eyed Raven hadn’t killed all the cheeky humor that once dwelled inside him. A ghost of a smirk crossed his face at the glimpse of a scowl on Glover’s face, turning back to the fire.

Setting the stone back into his pack, Glover muttered something incomprehensible, sheathing the dagger. “Typical. All your family, fuckin’ typical.” The leader of the “Rightful Kingdom of Winter” was starting to grow restless as the siege dragged out. Food wasn’t an issue, but the apprehension of having a growing enemy force surrounding them was starting to crack the men. “Not just the bastard whore of the Dragon slut, all of you.”

“Oh? And how is that?” If he wasn’t able to escape into the endless past, the least Bran could do to pass the time was drive his captor closer to insanity.

It was easy this time. “All fucking failures to our land!” Glover kicked at a table. “Both your brothers, marryin’ foreign whores that became their undoing. Your sisters, betrayin’ us for the Targaryens after what that family did to us. You, a useless cripple. The North deserves someone far stronger and bolder to lead it.”

“And you are that person?” While emotionless, such tone only made the words more biting.

Glover snorted. “Only one with the stones to do anything… and if the dragons come back, this time I knock them out of the sky.” He walked to the door. “Enjoy whatever moments of peace you have, Bran Stark. As soon as your brother and his whore fall, I kill you.” With that, he slammed the door behind him.

A breath passed from Bran’s lips. _Thank the gods that was over._ Unable to escape the chambers that were now his prison cell, Bran was subject to whatever torture or agony the rebels had in store for him… turned out the worst was Lord Glover’s company. It took everything in him not to warg into a dog or a crow and go right for his throat – but that would create more harm than good.

Flickering back to the flames, Bran inhaled a lungful of cold air. Focusing his mind, clearing out his soul so he could welcome the embrace of all that was or ever will be… He didn’t see it, but his eyes withdrew back into his head, a white sheen replacing them.

_Blinking awake, Bran found himself standing in the Wolfswood. Never would he forget the woods he played in during his youth – before his tragic fall at the hands of Jaime Lannister. They were drenched in snowfall, the broadleaves bare while the evergreens still eked out an existence in the inhospitable clime. Many were broken, ripped apart by the nightmarish horde that charged through here many moons ago. Spring would heal the scars of the Army of the Dead out her… but not within the hearts of those that fought them._

_Bran had given his entire being to fight them._

_“Come on, hurry up.” The voices were a whisper, but Bran could hear them all the same thanks to the skills innate to the Raven. Eyes finding the originator of the voice, he was heartened to see his sister Arya racing through the snow, silent on her feet. She looked even more hardened and bloodied than when they last saw each other, wrapped in a mottled grey and white cloak. Behind her was a larger man, burly with the muscles of someone that worked with his hands… Gendry Baratheon._

_Of course he would follow Arya even back here. The two siblings he never thought would find love truly fell and fell hard…_

_Bran’s throat went dry as he spotted the last of their trio. She was swaddled like Arya and Gendry, but he knew the fur-clad female warrior better than the back of his hand. “Meera…”_

_In the distance, Meera Reed stopped, hearing Bran’s voice. This was only the second time, but somehow they had the ability. “Wait a moment,” she called to Arya. “Wait till the clouds block the moon.”_

_Groaning, Arya nevertheless saw the wisdom in that. “Shouldn’t be long, so quick rest then we go.”_

_As the two lovers sat next to each other, cuddled in each other’s arms as they waited, Meera darted off a bit away from them… not to far to lose sight but enough to be out of earshot. “Bran,” she whispered, feeling her heart catch when coming face to face with him._

_“It’s time, isn’t it?” he asked simply. His voice was emotionless, but within a slight warmth began to fill him._

_Meera sighed. “Aye, it’s time. We’ll be in the crypts before we know it… if things work out right.”_

_“I’ll be in my chambers, the ones I slept in as a child. Arya will know where they are.”_

_Smiling, Meera leaned up and kissed Bran on the cheek. “Just be ready, Bran. Don’t do anything that may cause delays, since we may be in a rush. Alright?”_

_Looking in her eyes, Bran nodded, soon watching as the Crannogwoman raced to where his sister and her lover waited. The warmth that continued to surround his heart suddenly turned into an icy grip. Pain gripping him at the sight of her leaving. “Meera,” he called out faintly – unknowing of why he did… or did he?_

_It didn’t matter, she was already out of earshot._

_“Meera, I… Meera!” The world grew white around him until it filled his vision…_

Breathing deeply, sucking in gasps of air, Bran found himself back in his chambers. The fire flickered wildly, while a cold air seemed to fill the space around him. Wordlessly, the Three-Eyed Raven drew his furs tighter around his shoulders, trying desperately to catch his breath.

Pain filled him. A pain he hadn’t truly felt in years, that of loss… and longing… It disquieted the Raven, a piece of Bran Stark slowly returning to the world.

 _She’s coming._ He hung onto that fact. _She’ll soon be here._

And behind her, the Dragon’s Wroth.

* * *

With a crash of fists against their fur-swathed chests, the mass of mounted Dothraki cheered their undulating battle cries as their King and Queen marched between their packed formations. Each was ready to fast ride to Winterfell – where their brothers and sisters had fought and bled and died to defeat the dead. Both Aegon VI Targaryen and Daenerys I Targaryen, their Khal and Khaleesi, were those they’d follow into the maw of death itself. To have their Khal’s childhood home defiled by traitorous cowards, it was as much an insult upon their honor as upon his.

They would hold no mercy for their enemies in this fight.

Landing from their circular patrol above Castle Cerwyn, Drogon and Rhaegal hooted into the sky. The black dragon waited a bit off, while the green one hobbled towards his _muna_ and _kepa_. Extending his snout, both Dany and Jon lavished him with pets and strokes. It calmed him… as it did them.

Jon climbed atop Rhaegal, his chest heaving with righteous anger. Today was the day they burned those spineless cunts to the ground, the day they got his brother Bran and his people out of that shithole the Glover’s had made it into. Longclaw strapped to his side, in his Valyrian style armor he looked like the warrior King that he was born to be.

Daenerys looked forward to rewarding him after the battle was won, given how good he fitted out the armor. This armor was black, with the deep red of a dragon’s head on one side of the insignia and the silver of a wolf on the other. His leg guards were polished silver with scale-mail under the hardened armor, covering his entire body in its arrow-repelling protection. Taking a note from Arya, he had a garrote wire hidden in the pouch of his left glove, just in case. Knives were hidden in his boots and in his vambraces, he was ready for war.

“Hurry back, my King.” Her voice was sultry, and only partly to cover her fear for him.

He smirked, loving the woman who stood below with her hand on her belly and rifling Ghost’s fur in the other, a hard look in her eye. She was his reason, his life and his purpose, and the loss of her would likely kill him. Their child due in the next month or so, she was swollen and rounded, so heavily pregnant her dresses, riding clothes, and breeches had to be remade for her to accommodate her belly. “I shall return soon, I promise.” He turned to his direwolf. “Take care of her, boy.”

Ghost drew closer to her in response, wrapping his body round Dany’s legs before gazing expectantly at Jon. _Good boy._

Daenerys was not decked out to the nines in armor, for she would not be joining the fight. With her time growing so near, she found that she could not even wear breeches or a riding jacket without severe discomfort, and they could not risk her labor being induced upon dragonback. She could not in good conscience put herself and their child in mortal danger for even this, be it a just cause for war.

“Are you ready for this? We’ve never been promised a victory before, my love.”

“Dany… I can’t allow this to occur, I can’t allow my brother to remain a hostage in his own home. I don’t want to go to war, but our kingdom is being threatened, _you_ are being threatened, and I won’t stand for it.”

“I wish I could go with you...”

She turned and touched Drogon’s snout lovingly, smiling as he nudged her stomach gently in turn. Her hair was pulled back into a new style to accommodate her newest braid, one that would be joined shortly with a newer one for tonight's victory. Raising her fist into the air, she looked at the Khalasar before her. _“Tat iffi!”_ – too victory.

Jon drew Longclaw atop Rhaegal. _“Tat iffi!”_ The Dothraki went wild with war chants, spurring their horses into a stiff gallop towards the north.

With the sun setting, Jon took to the sky and began his flight, with the thousands of troops in step behind him.

* * *

“Wait?” Resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, the Glover guard peered behind him, a functional illiterate by the halting manner of his speech. “Hear ‘dat?” It was as if something was emerging from the crypts – a place few of the bannermen would dare enter, lest the spirits of the Kings of Winter drag them to madness.

The other scoffed, arrogance preventing him from noticing the crouching form behind him. “Stop being paranoid,” he shot back. “There are no fuckin’ Stark ghosts coming out of the crypts…”

Wrapping a gloved hand hurriedly over his mouth, Gendry Baratheon slammed the knife between his ribs, piercing the leather and mail armor with ease. The guard’s eyes went wide as the serrated metal tore through his heart. Muffled grunts ended, slumping dead in his hold.

Fear confirmed, the first guard went for his sword… only for Arya to leap out of the darkness. Her hands rounded his neck, garotte drawn tight and stretching across his windpipe. The guard reached out towards the rope… then the sky… then trying to claw at her to escape. Movements Arya ignored, strangling him harder and gritting her teeth at his faint hisses as he gasped. Eventually, the last bits of life ebbed away from him.

“Got him?” Gendry whispered to his lover. _If we get out of this, I’m marrying her first chance._

Unaware of Gendry’s very consequential hopes, Arya nodded. Gently, quietly, they dragged the bodies into the dark entrance to the crypts. “Assholes will soon discover the bodies,” remarked Meera – her bow was out, giving them needed cover from the top step… just out of sight. The trio hadn’t stumbled on any patrols within the crypts, watched over by the Starks of old including Arya’s father and brothers, but the courtyard was likely filled with them

“By the time they do we’ll be long gone,” Arya replied with a hushed whisper, motioning for them to advance. None willing to make another sound, they left the bodies hidden in the shadows and dashed in rushes through the courtyard.

 _Left turn, then a right. Follow the moss down the hall and keep low until you find steps, then take them up. Dance with a guard or two, but make sure to drop tablets in their mouths, don’t kill them._ Arya wore silencing leathers, thoroughly missing the weight of her armor, in an effort to keep her appearance as male-looking as possible. Daenerys was very clear, in the dark, she looked as male as any young boy her age. She’d been given thirty pills, just in case there were more guards than normal, and instructed to knock them out without killing them as they were Winterfell guards and not Glover men.

She was careful, quiet and quick, counting doorways and steps, until she found her staircase. _Thirty steps up, hang a left, then a quick right to avoid being seen, you know what to do._ She waited, then lashed out like a cat would an unsuspecting mouse. She struck hard and fast, knocking the first man out as easy as possible, then went after the second before he could scream a warning. Two tablets down, and the men would remember nothing, waking only with a slight headache. These men were lucky. Had they been Glover’s men, well, she was instructed to give them nothing but the best Targaryen welcome she could manage. Which was why her garrote wire was still tucked into her wrist, hidden away in a little pouch.

As planned, Gendry nodded at her before ducking into a dark alcove at the head of the corridor – blending into the wall as he waited. Protecting them in case something happened. Arya could handle anyone living in the guest wings, but if there were reinforcements then it was Gendry’s issue to deal with. Strength and all that.

Meera was behind her, keeping seven paces away to give the illusion that there was only one intruder to worry about, her new reflex bow would quickly shatter that perceived bit of knowledge. She was also here to help maneuver Bran from his squeaky chair and carry him out, where horses were waiting for them. Meera had been lugging hundred-pound bags of flour in the Winterfell kitchens for Bran’s meals for months before the capture, so her ease of the weight would be invaluable.

Before long they were in front of his door, knocking once, they entered and Bran gave them a smile, which quickly turned into a grimace when Meera picked him up and held him onto her back. No words needed to be said, though it would have been foolish for Arya not to notice the slight smoldering look her friend gave her brother… or the longing in her brother’s pale grey eyes.

“HEY! The door’s open!”

Snarling, Arya vaulted out the door and silenced the man, but the warning had been given. “Run!” she cried, drawing both her blades and charging down the hall.

“What is the meaning of this…” door to the Lord’s suite opening, down another corridor, Lord Glover caught one glimpse of Arya before he shut it again.

 _Fuckin’ coward!_ But there was no time for her to hunt him down and skin him alive as she wanted… Dragonfire would have to do. The scuffle of boots atop the stone floor echoed ahead, Catspaw already flying out of her hand till it slammed into the throat of the Glover bannerman in the van. He pitched back, gurgling cries spraying blood everywhere as his three companions pushed his body aside.

They drew their swords. “Nowhere to run, bitch.” Looking her and Meera over, they licked their lips. “Gonna enjoy this.”

Such were the last words he would ever say, Gendry erupting out of the alcove. Catching them off guard from behind, his hammer already smashed the would-be rapist’s face against the stone wall, bloody face swinging around to catch another in the shoulder and fell him. A sword clanged against the steel shaft, only for the final guard to get Needle shoved through his gut.

Pulling Catspaw from the first corpse, Arya looked up at her lover. “Thanks… stupid bull.” Punctuated by a quick kiss – a method of thanks the Arya of only a year before would have thought ridiculous, she waved to Meera. “Come on, before the rest of the castle wakes!”

Managing to reach the door to the battlements, from the hue and cry outside it was obvious that they were too late…

Only for the one word being screamed from multiple throats to leave them with relief… and a whole new type of dread.

“DRAGONS!”

* * *

They arrived at midnight, when the sky was darkest. The dragons were silent, tense, and understanding of the mission at hand. Their wings flapped but made no sound, something even Jon hadn’t known they could do despite Daenerys’s dragon lessons. His rider gripped his spines tightly, but gentle enough for Drogon to know not to dive just yet, Rhaegal kept a close eye on his brother as he allowed him to take command of this flight. _Kepa, we are close._ The thought rang through the bond like water sizzling on a hot pan, loud and clear.

He was clever, the dragonwolf, for the night sky gave them such protection that unless you were _really_ looking at the sky, you’d never see the two dragons in flight above you. And when their fires burned bright below, the sky would look that much darker. Yes, Jon had planned the perfect time to ambush the Glover men while they dozed, and he planned to get as much devastation in before the worthless bastards knew what was coming for them. The armies below them were not as quiet, but marched as silently as their heavy armor allowed. Following their Khal, the Dothraki had arrived under cover of darkness and for once did not hoot and holler with a zealous fury as ordered.

Daenerys filled his mind as he flew the armies into their position, the hope and fear of upcoming parenthood as he gazed upon the castle quickly approaching the vast army that lay dormant in the night. Her sparkling violet eyes, the radiant smile that crossed her lips whenever her gaze fell upon him, the fierceness by which she defended those she loved and protected… Never before while a bastard at the Wall did he ever thin such wonder would await him in the future. That there was something out there for him other than death at the wall like Lord Commander Mormont or Maester Aemon.

He would die for Dany and their baby if it came to that, but for once in his life he held the complete and utter urge to live. To triumph so that he could squeeze even one minute extra to spend with them. Jon finally had a family, and no man or god would tear them away from him.

 _Kepa._ Through a low growl, Rhaegal caught his attention. _Time?_

Looking down at the patchwork of flickering torches dotting the siegeworks, Jon was certain they were in position. “Yes, boy. _Dracarys._ ” At the command, Rhaegal let out a puff of flame. One sure to be extinguished in seconds by the freezing air, but enough to be spotted from the ground.

“That’s the signal! Go!” Giving the nod, Tormund, commander of his Wildlings, silently led his force out of the earthworks towards no man’s land. Creeping forward without noise, not allowing the sleeping soldiers within to notice them until it was time. _Come on, King Crow._ Tormund clutched at his axe, holding it tightly as behind him, Hightower bannermen readied large siege ladders to join them. _Hurry the fuck up._

Sure enough time had passed, Jon smirked and allowed the two great beasts to give out their mighty thunderous roar. They boomed over the landscape, followed by the crazed war cries of thousands of Free Folk and Dothraki – they quickly startled awake any soldier who slept, driving them to panic. This tactic worked like a charm, half-awake men poured out of tents like ants streaming to protect the cause of an independent North with no real understanding of what was occurring around them.

“DRAGONS!”

The shout rang out, waking the men further and prompting their muddled minds to think faster. Sleep-addled hands reached for weaponry, but were too slow to stop Tormund and his forces. Ladders already slammed into place all along the open sides of the castle, grappling hooks affixed to battlements rooting them firmly. Up scrambled the heavy Hightower knights and fierce wildlings, arrows and blades meeting them but not as much as could be. The sudden attack had caught them unprepared, allowing Tormund to seize enough of the walls before the Glovers could properly respond.

Men hurried toward the ballistae, trying to find and kill the roaring beasts before they decided to scorch the earth with their dragonfire. Jon shouted commands through their link, gritting his teeth and holding tightly to Rhaegal’s spines as he and Drogon jinked and weaved. Tight turns that chilled him to his bones and nearly blacked him out took their toll on his body, but Jon fought to remain alert. _Dany… for Dany._

Below, the walls of the keep were in chaos. Men scrambled atop the ladders like ants, Dothraki circling and firing their bows into the castle to support their comrades. Targaryen banners waved in the night’s wind alongside that of House Glover atop the battlements. _So far so good._ Jon turned his attention to the keep, knowing that only the destruction of the gatehouse and the charge of the Dothraki would allow them total victory. A trio of bolts rocketed towards them, Rhaegal dodging two while Drogon roared in pain. Jon cried out as well, feeling the impact into Drogon’s side as if he were the dragon… But he could not burn the building while Arya and Gendry were still inside collecting Bran. Jon needed the signal to ensure their safety…

There! A flashing torch, burning green. It waved like mad through the air from somewhere in the keep… near the crypts. He knew Winterfell like the back of his hand. _They made it! They’re in the crypts._ Baring his teeth in a cross between a grin and a snarl, he ordered Rhaegal to dive. The harsh screaming wind focused his mind, rage burning within him. “ _Dracarys!”_

Maw alight with flame, Rhaegal’s dragonfire ripped through the Winterfell gatehouse like a scythe rips through granary, immolating a great many Glover bannermen before they realized they ought to flee. Ballistae quickly aimed for the green beast, only for the Black Dread Reborn to immolate them in his own flame, desperate to protect his brother and _kepa_.

Hold blasted right through the defenses, a galloping roar filled the din as the Khalasar charged straight for the breach. Hundreds gathered in the courtyard tried to flee for the keeps and battlements, but the Dothraki rode forward and gutted them while they fled.

In an instant, the battle was over. All that was left was mopping up.

And the King’s Justice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longclaw: Lord Glover is fucked, while Bran may have found his humanity again.
> 
> And what's going on with Rhaenys?


	9. Chapter Nine: Repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear friends! Thank you so much for supporting this story and giving Longclaw and me your honest opinions, I hope all is well with you and that you're having a marvelous Halloween!   
> Happy Hauntings!  
> BlackRose999 & Longclaw1-6

Daenerys moved in her seat, feeling the full discomfort of her pregnancy weight as the wheelhouse moved and jostled over the uneven path of the Kingsroad. She'd been riding with Sansa and her Queensguard for more than a day and was only now arriving at Winterfell with her family. Family. Such a strange word to come from her mind, a woman with no living family other than Jon, to suddenly gain an entire house of people to call her own. She loved the man, the dragon within, the wolf's façade that was nonetheless real as well.

But this pregnancy was beginning to tire her out – with each passing day, her body became a little sorer, a little more strained and broken inside. Come out, little one. Dany gently rubbed her belly.

"Can't wait to meet him or her?" Sansa asked with a small smile, drawing Dany's attention.

Smiling back, Dany gasped slightly as her little dragon kicked and squirmed within. "Settle down, we'll be with Kepa soon," she cooed, chuckling lightly. "I suppose I am, goodsister." While there was still an awkwardness between her and Sansa that wasn't the case with Arya, given the fact Sansa bent the knee and Dany had just won back the North for her, the relationship was starting to thaw. "I'm also eager for this pregnancy to end."

That drew a laugh from the normally icy Lady of Winterfell. "Oh, that I can imagine." The wheelhouse jostled again, causing Dany to groan. "A curse that men are lucky to escape."

"If men had to bear children then humanity would die out," Dany replied, grinning. "Although, I must ask, have you given it any thought? Children I mean?"

Sansa stiffened. "That would mean laying with a man. I… I can't now."

Daenerys knew the signs given her experiences. "I understand." Leaning forward as best she could, Dany placed her hand on Sansa's hand. "It's alright, to heal. It takes a long time but I managed to do so."

Finding the violet eyes filled with nothing but concern – no condescension or domination as she witnessed in Cersei and expected from Daenerys – Sansa didn't recoil or withdraw in herself as was apt to do. "I… I never knew how to cope except to rule. To gain power and control."

"Those things help, but they can never allow one to escape the torment. Only happiness and love can, given those that abuse us do their best to take them away." Any reply from Sansa was blocked when the wheelhouse rode over a rather large rock or bump, nearly toppling both onto each other. Grunting, Dany snarled to herself. "Useless fucking things!" Leaning out the window, she called over for someone, irate.

Gods, this was uncomfortable for her, especially how vulnerable she needed to be. She had to convince her Dothraki guards that she could not ride in the saddle, as it was custom for Dothraki women to ride until it became time to birth their offspring, before they would allow her to enter the wheelhouse they deemed insulting to her status. Daenerys growled, feeling the churning in her stomach worsen with every bump, rattle, and lurch the carriage made.

Finally, someone familiar rode up beside them. "Davos… Dear gods… How long until we reach Winterfell?"

Davos Seaworth smiled softly, understanding and pity lighting his features with a fatherly gleam. "Not long your Grace, perhaps another hour or two? Do you need to rest, my dear?"

Seeing the greening of her face, he nodded to himself and rapped the side of the carriage twice signaling the driver to stop.

"WHOA THERE! Full Stop!"

She smiled her thanks, then her face turned a deeper shade and she lurched from the carriage as fast as her swollen belly would allow her to, with Sansa right on her heels she leaned forward and upended her lunch. Retching into the frozen ground, she spat the filth from her mouth and accepted a bit of cloth to clean her chin.

"Your Grace… Look."

Spitting again, she turned her flushed face from the ground and looked at the horizon. The morning sun had already lit the sky in a pale blue haze, with purple and pinks lighting the lower portions of the sky. There, just beyond the clearer sightline, was Winterfell. The high towers of the keep seemed to just touch the clouds, making the sight of the glistening snow of the world around the keep seem that much more beautiful. Her breath hitched, and her eyes filled with gentle tears at the knowledge that she would be with her king soon. Davos touched her shoulder, happy that the sight of the keep had distracted her from her vomiting.

"Welcome back to Winterfell your Grace."

Smiling at her, he carefully led her to the carriage, where he waited patiently for her to enter and sit comfortably before clamoring in and rapping on the carriage once more. With a jostling lurch, the carriage started once again, forcing her to bite her lower lip to keep the bile in her throat down. Within the hour, they rolled through Winterfell gates where the entire keep was waiting for her. Nervousness again filled her, what if these people felt the same as those in Kings Landing had? How could she expect a reaction that wasn't a negative one?

She soon realized her fears were unfounded.

"HAIL TO THE QUEEN!"

"QUEEN DAENERYS LIVES!"

"SEVEN BLESSINGS YOUR GRACE!"

She smiled, feeling tears form in her eyes. They loved her, forgave her for her crimes, and wanted to know her – perhaps they worshipped strength, but love didn't come from that. As she walked through the crowd, she felt a hand reach out and seize her arm urgently. A lone woman, clearly in her dying years, looked at her frantically. Then to her surprise, she spoke in Valyrian.

"Ȳdra daor sagon iā mittys aōha dārōñe, iā egry isse se bantis awaits ao kesīr!"

"DAENERYS!"

Snapping her head around at the sound of her beloved's voice, she felt the hand vanish and the woman was gone when she looked again, replaced by the sea of happy people. Her king loped down the cleared isle and wrapped her in his arms, spinning her carefully, before giving her a heart-melting kiss. The warning forgotten, she happily walked down the aisle of people and into the keep, where she saw a new face among the familiar ones. He looked out of place among the people, but Samwell Tarly still had the grace to smile cheerfully at her. Shame crept into her features, and suddenly she found she could not look at the man, for her memory reminded her of what she'd done to his father and brother.

But when Jon spoke to her, all of that washed away. All she had was confidence… and love. "Are you alright? The babe?"

His attentiveness and worry made her laugh. Calmed her. "No, our babe is fine, husband." She pecked at his lips. "As am I."

"Thank the gods." Again, he drew her in and kissed her. Their tongues quickly melding together out of pure passion.

"Seven fucking hells!" They broke apart as Arya strode in the room, Gendry and Sansa trailing behind her. "You couldn't wait till you got to your chambers?"

Daenerys buried her face in Jon's chest – adapting to the Dothraki way had killed any modesty within her, but being in front of those who were essentially her siblings restored a slight amount back. Jon, however, merely groaned. "So I'm supposed to ignore what happened in the Small Council Chamber that one time?"

Arya's teasing glint changed into a scowl. "Shut it."

"Oh no, let's talk about when I caught you and Lord Baratheon in a rather… intimate position upon the conference table when you thought no one was looking."

Sansa raised an eyebrow. "This I have to hear."

"Don't you dare, Jon!" Arya hissed, Gendry blushing and averting his gaze.

"I'm afraid it should wait, Jon." All eyes turned to see Lady Meera wheel Bran into the room. "Daenerys… welcome."

Brandon Stark was much as Daenerys first saw him all those moons ago – reed-thin, though seemingly thinner and gaunter. But the eyes had a… sparkle to them that was completely absent before. Not much, but some. "Lord Brandon," she nodded respectfully."

"You may call me Bran. I am no Lord," he replied, a ghost of a smile on his lips. It fell once he looked back to Jon. "There is no better time to do it than now, brother."

A grim look passed over Jon's face, one shared by Arya and Gendry. "What?" Dany asked, looking from Jon to Bran and back to Jon again.

Jon rubbed the back of his neck. "Lord Glover's sentence was pronounced by myself last night. An immediate death sentence, along with the attainment of his family line. Those men surviving that served under him – since the Night's Watch is no more – are to be pressed into twenty years of military service to atone for their crimes."

Daenerys frowned. "You should have waited for my arrival, Jon."

"I know, but this needed to be done decisively and expediently… but I knew to wait for you before the execution could be commenced."

Drawing back, Daenerys nodded. "Let's get this over with."

Turns out, an order from the King and Queen could move mountains if worded properly. They hadn't stepped out of the keep before Free Folk guards wearing the distinctive face paint and scars of Thenn warriors led a dirty, bloody chain-wrapped Lord Robett Glover from the dungeons… the kennels rather. Beside her, Dany saw Sansa's lip quiver slightly, and she couldn't blame her – Theon Greyjoy had been cast to live down there and Sansa truly missed him.

But Theon redeemed himself following his torture at the hands of Ramsay Bolton. At the hate in Glover's eyes looking up at them, Daenerys knew there was no chance of redemption of this pitiful man.

With a sharp kick in the shin, Glover grunted and collapsed to his knees – forced in a hobbling position as the two Targaryen monarchs approached. Jon tall and fierce, Daenerys waddling from pregnancy but no less fierce. Beside them, Ghost trotted in his full size and glory. Quite a magical sight, a pure Targaryen and a half-Targaryen, half-Stark. Fire and Ice. A crowd of their soldiers and the smallfolk of Winterfell gathered along the battlements and within the courtyard, waiting for the show to begin.

Jon cleared his throat first. "Glover." He didn't deign to legitimize the man with his title. "I told you that you were to die, and the moment has come."

Glover spat at the ground. "Of course you wait for your Targaryen whore to show up." He gazed at Dany with loathing. "Tell me, does she plan on doing what Shiera Seastar did? Fucking you in a pool of my blood as a reward for fuckin' betraying your home?"

At the disgusting statement, before Dany could respond one of the Thenns smashed his fist into Glover's jaw. "Should I cut out his tongue, King Dragon?" They couldn't call him King Crow anymore. "Would be mighty tasty."

"Savages!" Glover snarled, only to get punched again.

"No," Daenerys answered. "Let him speak." She leaned in close to him. "You hate me, don't you? For supposedly conquering the North."

"Every time…" he said slowly. "You even breathe our air, it defiles this great land."

She tilted her head. "And yet you were willing to let the dead wipe it out, while I sacrificed one of my sons and much of my armies to save it. Apparently, I care for the North more than you do."

Glare murderous, Glover's eyes flickered to where Jon's Stark siblings stood – while Sansa was betrayed just as House Targaryen had been, they would be content with the King and Queen's justice. "I should've thrown my lot with the Boltons. At least they knew they were of the North, not like their bitch bedmate," he hissed at Sansa. "And to think I wished for you to be Queen."

"You cunt…" Arya advanced, only for Sansa's hand to stop her.

The Lady of Winterfell cleared her throat. "In the Game of Thrones, you win or die," she stated simply. "You did not win, so therefore as your liege lord I add a death sentence to your head to stand alongside the Crown's."

Glover visibly deflated, though the hate remained in his eyes. "So that's it then. Bring the block."

Jon shook his head. "Block's too good for you. You die of Dragonfire."

"You bastard!" With the energy brought to him, he began to lash against the Thenn guards as much as his chains allowed, kicks, and bites toward restraining hands were sent their way before the burly wildlings bashed him into submission. "Bring me the damn steel!"

"You don't deserve steel," Dany said coldly. "Lady Sansa pledged the North to House Targaryen, and therefore the North is under Targaryen protection. Your rebellion was against us, so, therefore, you die by the hand of Old Valyria." Such would serve as a symbol, one that all those in the North would have to heed. Looking backward would mean death and destruction, while forward brought peace and prosperity. The true meaning of fire and blood.

Motioning the crowds to back away, Sansa and Arya served as the example… everyone hurrying once Drogon roared. He circled the keep, massive wingspan casting a shadow across the castle. With a terrifying thud, the Black Dread reborn landed atop the battlements – his neck was long enough to extend into the courtyard while not leaving his perch. He nudged Jon once with his snout before moving to his mother and rider, affectionately nuzzling her side. Something terrifying, but also wondrous. All seemed captivated by it.

"My son," she whispered to him. "Just wait one moment." Drogon bobbed his head ever so slightly, allowing Dany to turn to Lord Glover. "Robett Glover, I, Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of my Name – sentence you to death by Dragonfire by my authority and the authority of Aegon of House Targaryen, Seventh of his Name and Sansa of House Stark."

Neither she nor Jon allowed him one more vile word. As he stood shakily, the two monarchs gave their order. "Dracarys!"

Drogon was only too willing to comply.

It was not over quickly, seeming to understand the threat this man had proposed to his Muna and Kepa, Drogon blew gentle bursts of flames. Lighting each arm and leg, torso and head, one burst at a time.

Burning him alive slowly.

Sansa snarled, wracking her brain in a desperate attempt to placate the North. She had tried every outcome, every instance of brilliance snuffed out by some kind of knowledge about the other Clans. She had no answer. Feeling tears rise unwittingly to her eyes, she stood and strode to the window, where she saw Dany and Arya walking in the courtyard, and her eyes naturally fell to her belly. Swollen with a child, she looked like a balloon with legs. But her eyes and her body were aglow, as if the knowledge that she bore the next generation of Targaryens made her shine like the stars.

Long term… Not immediacy. Possibilities and not fearful demands of allegiance.

A bulb in her mind began to shine with incredible light. Hurrying, she wrote to the major clans of the North, asking them to send a trusted envoy to Winterfell, to create a Small Counsel for the North. The ravens flew quickly, sending word to Houses Mormont, Cerwyn, Manderly, Hornwood, Karstark, and Forrester so send their chosen representative to Winterfell, where they would reside one week a month with the other Great Houses to convene a Grand Council as was oft done in the south. Perhaps THIS will ease those pompous pea-brained idiots!

Finding a seat at her desk – the desk that belonged to her father, Ned Stark, while he was alive – Sansa massaged her temples. The papers with their various scrawls were one big blur to her, mind a jumble of different thoughts. This Grand Council was a good idea from Queen Daenerys, for the North was in deep shit. If the various wars that ripped through Westeros leading to the coronation of Jon and Dany hadn't brought it to its knees, the harsh winter and resulting famines only worsened the situation.

And the rebellion of the Glovers battered them close to death. One more blow and the North would both starve and collapse into anarchy.

Damn you, Lord Glover… damn you, Ramsay. Sansa was faced with compounding problems, the most pressing being the hungry mouths of marching armies depleting their grain reserves to nothing, which was Sansa's biggest problem at the moment. She had decisions to make. One, she could cast blame on the wildlings to unite the North, which she couldn't do out of loyalty to Jon. Two, she could ask to annex lands in the Riverlands that still held food, also not an option considering the state of the realm. Three…

She could swallow her pride and ask for the help of the dragons. From her brother/cousin and goodsister. The Cersei inside her screamed never to do so, but Sansa pushed it back… No matter how it made her feel, this was the only option.

Daenerys thought of her as family… Right? Even after everything, Sansa thought so. Prayed so. Hoped beyond all hope to the truth of it.

Given their being siblings, Arya didn't need to ask permission to enter Sansa's solar nor did Sansa demand it from her. Walking past the ever vigilant Podrick, the Commander of the Queensguard breezed into the solar, superior smile on her face as it always was. Behind was the King escorting the very pregnant Queen. "Oh, our brother and goodsister are here," Arya said, still grinning.

While she rose and curtsied as was customary, Sansa glared at Arya. "I know you can show up at any time, Arya, please knock first."

"Why? Not like you'd be doing anything that requires privacy. This room isn't a privy."

"Arya…" Jon warned, though he was suppressing a chuckle. Daenerys didn't suppress one. "Apologies, sister," he told Sansa with a smile of his own. "I was hoping we could discuss the coming Grand Council."

Sansa sighed… her mindset wasn't exactly in the best place right now, but stewing with company was better than stewing alone. "Of course. Pick any seat." While Arya plopped down on one of the love seats, but Jon gingerly guided his pregnant wife to the most comfortable chair, hand lovingly on her belly and pressing a kiss to her temple. For a moment, a pang of jealousy and longing arose in her – not for her brother, but yearning for a good man to love her and treat her with the same kindness and affection.

An empty dream… with her past and the number of Littlefinger or Ramsay types out there, Sansa could trust no one. The images of her youth, of gallant knights who would love her for the rest of her life, it was just that – a fantasy without reality.

"Alright," she began. "Jon, much as I don't wish to divulge the secrets of the North, you are family and I can trust you." Locking eyes with Dany for but a moment, Jon smiled and leaned in to pat Sansa's hand… the words meant a lot to him, given what their relationship was as children. "We're close to starving." She sighed again. "The Glovers cleaned us out, I'm afraid, while the Hightowers and Dothraki will finish off if they don't leave before the end of the moon."

"I've already given them the order to depart for the south," Daenerys answered.

Sansa looked grateful. "Thank you, goodsister… but that's not going to alleviate us long term. Winter was… awful."

Arya, looking bored, perked up in interest at the current subject. "It's warming in the south. Winter will be short since the White Walkers were defeated."

"In the south, perhaps, but you know as well as I do that the seasons here don't run the same way… bottom line, we need food, and your providing of the food is absolutely crucial to obtaining the firm loyalty of the Northern lords to both myself and the crown."

"The defeat of the rebels and the execution of Lord Glover should settle that quickly."

"You are my goodsister, Daenerys, but even now you still don't understand the northern mindset." That drew glares from both Arya and Jon, but Dany merely quirked her head, asking for her to continue. "They'll follow you, but not ever truly. Not if you continue to assume your control through might as the Boltons did and Lannisters tried to."

Much as he wished to disagree, Jon couldn't. "Sansa is right, Dany."

"Those cunts will know what's good for 'em," Arya scoffed.

"The Boltons thought the same and many Northern houses still rose up with us to fight them… or refused to help them. After all that's happened we cannot risk even one sundering within our rule." He took Dany's hand, kissing it before looking at Sansa with… grief? Wariness? "Which is why I think you should consider taking a husband."

"What?" Sansa literally thought she misheard.

"Jon…" Arya was shocked. "After all she's been through?"

Sansa's heart beat through her chest, suddenly growing a cold sweat. Memories of Ramsay… of what he did on their wedding night…

Sensing this, Jon backtracked. Holding up his hands. "I'm not suggesting anything that's forced. You're the Lady of Winterfell and it's your decision, but the fact of the matter is the North needs stability. Bran and Arya are determined to sit out of the concept of ruling, and while one of Dany and I's children can provide a spare heir for Winterfell that may not go over well. I am not of Ned Stark's blood, you are."

Arya narrowed her eyes. "So you want her to marry someone in order to breed her… that's low, Jon, even for a King…"

"Arya, enough." Daenerys cut her off. "Perhaps I should speak to Sansa alone, woman to woman." Her violet eyes were determined, but soft. Nonthreatening. "Please, Jon. Step out of the room. We'll supp in our chambers afterwards." She offered a small smile.

Looking from Dany to Sansa and back again, Jon nodded and stood, leaning down to kiss her on the lips before making his exit. Arya seemed… curious, but followed her brother, door closing behind her.

The two women sat across from each other, a terse silence howling like the wind. "Goodsister, you realize we have no intention of forcing you into anything."

Swallowing, Sansa nodded. "I don't believe Jon would intentionally hurt me… nor you, much as my initial behavior towards you was shortsighted and wrong. But I cannot reiterate how…" She closed her eyes, willing away the vile thoughts. "After my last marriage, I can't imagine conducting such again."

Smiling sadly, Daenerys looked at the hearth, absentmindedly stroking her stomach. "My first time was just like yours," she said in a soft voice. For the second time in this very meeting, Sansa was shocked. Daenerys? Brutalized… by who? If he was still alive, Jon would likely butcher him where he stood. "My first husband, the Dothraki Khal."

"He's dead, no?"

Dany nodded. "Aye, a wound festered and I implored a witch to save him – he was my only protection, since I didn't have my dragons." Anything for survival. "She… killed him anyway, along with my first child."

Sansa felt a twinge of sadness and empathy. "I'm sorry."

"If I look back, I am lost… something I tell myself." She met Sansa's eyes. "You and I are not so different in that, though my brother was the one who sold me to him."

Jon or Arya would never do that. "I'm doubly glad he's dead then."

"He will always be my brother, but I do not mourn the man he became." The burdens of lifetimes were truly upon the Queen's shoulders. "But even with such brutalization and grief, I still managed to find love." Her smile widened, eyes sparkling. "I can't see myself without Jon by my side, and he not only loves me but respects me. We are bound by both blood and spirit, I believe." Though difficult from the swell of her pregnancy, Dany leaned forward to take her hand in hers. "Don't force yourself… just… we only ask you to keep your eyes open. Perhaps you'll find the same happiness as I did."

Sansa's lips curled ever so slightly upward. "Alright."

Night in Winterfell during the winter years was pitch-black, Daenerys soon discovered, not at all like the half-glow of snowfall during the warming years. She groaned, feeling a subtle need to stand, to pace, but she stamped it down. The damned child could not, would not, stay still and it irked her because she was comfortable in the furs beside her husband. What are you so worried about little one?... She thought hopelessly, finally sighing and pulling herself from the extra warmth of the furs. Shrugging into a thick woolen robe, she sat back down in the padded chair beside the window, idly looking outside. Why would you be worried at all?

She gasped.

A man stood in the torchlight of the courtyard, staring at the window. He moved slightly, and the light flickered off something silver and sharp. Scrambling for her husband, she bolted up as fast as her pregnancy would allow and shook him awake.

"I… What? Dany? What's wrong?"

"There's a man outside, in the courtyard, he's got a blade and he's staring at our window!"

Groaning, he stood and made his way out to the window, where he saw nothing. No man with a dagger or sword in hand, but the urgency of his wife's awakening told him that for certain there had been something out there. Ghost lay on the edge of the bed, his ears pricked toward them, before suddenly shifting his attention toward the door. He growled, a snarling, screaming sound that made Dany feel like crying. Something was wrong.

"Ghost? What is it boy?"

"Jon…"

Daenerys's soft words made him look at the terror-stricken look upon her delicate face, following her eye, he noticed movement outside the door, pacing. Then, a knock.

"Jon, it's me! Tell Ghost to back off!"

Breathing a sigh of relief at the realization that it was just Arya, Jon moved to the door, but stopped when Ghost rose quickly to his feet, his hackles raised and his teeth bared in obvious hatred of whoever was behind that door. Something felt off about this, Arya would never have spoken through a door in a time of need, even with the threat of an angry Ghost, she'd have barged in and complained later.

"Jon stop! That's not Arya!"

Dany hissed at him, keeping her voice low and quiet as to not alert the person behind the door that their ruse was up. Going for his sword, he signalled Ghost to quiet, but moved toward the door and flung it open. Snarling, Ghost did what he did best when his masters were in danger, he went for the throat. The man behind the door was tall, with long reddish-brown hair and a pinched face. Was. Ghost was quick, he was on the man before he had time to scream, and with a gurgled cry Dany knew his throat was open and his lifeblood gone.

"JON! DAENERYS!"

Arya's voice rang clear as she pounded up the steps two at a time, obviously afraid she'd be there too late. She blew through the door and headed straight for Daenerys, checking her over before doing the same to Jon. When she was satisfied that they'd not even been scratched, she sighed and petted the blood-stained Ghost.

"I feared the worst, I left shift to go get dinner, and had the strangest urge to come check on you immediately. Not hurt are you?"

They both affirmed that no, they'd not been injured at all, and neither had Ghost. She nodded to herself, then with her boot she nudged the man lying dead on the floor. "A Faceless Man… You were almost assassinated, both of you." Jon glared, moving to stand beside Dany protectively. "How'd you know someone was here? Faceless Men are trained to be silent, unseen."

"Daenerys saw him outside, she couldn't sleep because of-"

"The baby, he wouldn't stop moving and kicking, I couldn't get comfortable. When I saw the man outside I remembered the woman's warning and I-"

"What warning?"

"She told me in High Valyrian 'Do not be a fool, a knife in the dark awaits you here!'"

"Dany your clothes!"

Daenerys moaned, knowing what she'd see, and looked down, marveling at the puddle of water she'd made. Thankful of her nakedness under her robe, she whimpered as a contraction hit.

"He's coming."

"Wake the midwives Arya, and Sam too just in case. I won't lose her to the Birthing Fever or anything else that may go wrong."

Arya nodded, then bolted down the steps and toward the midwives chambers, a place she'd avoided since she was young. Jon helped her to the bed, where he eased her back and let her breathe with him while they waited for the birth of their first child.


	10. Chapter Ten: Love and War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear friends! Thank you so much for being so kind and encouraging, it means a lot to Longclaw and me! I love you guys so much, and the depth of knowledge you all have spurred us to create better content to make sure you guys are happy! As always I own nothing, not the characters or the locations, and am simply telling a story of what might have been.  
> I hope you all had a perfect Halloween and an even better Thanksgiving to come!  
> Much Love,  
> BlackRose999 and Longclaw1-6
> 
> Longclaw: End of the chapter has been edited a bit

Childbirth was agony.

This she knew, she'd heard the stories and read the tales, but nothing prepared her for this. Not even Rhaego's birth had been this painful. By the grace of the gods, she had passed out and missed the wrenching experience of viewing the birth of what Jorah described as a monster. It was a mercy, Dany reflected in her moments of melancholy.

But this babe was different. A combination of her and Jon – her love and family. The future heir to the Targaryen legacy. There was nothing that would keep her from bearing a healthy babe. Even the pain.

She screamed, cried, and whimpered as contraction after contraction hit her mercilessly. Pain. So far that was the only thing that registered in her mind – pain, and agony. Daenerys clutched her stomach as yet another contraction ripped through her, the sudden agony almost yanking her to the floor. A whimper escaped her as she leaned against the heavy wooden table for support, the need to stand outweighing the need to push.

Jon was by her side for all of it. "Dany please, sit down, let it come naturally!"

"No, something's wrong! Get me Sam, or a midwife! _Somebody!"_

Her eyes were violet now, fear and anger making her feral with the nauseating fear of losing her babe. Bustling footsteps alerted her to Sam's entry, followed by two midwives. He took in the sight of the terrified silver-haired queen and willed himself to stay calm – this was the woman who'd slain his father and brother, and though the former treated him and Gilly horribly, he mourned for them still. She knew better to expect kindness from Sam, but to her surprise, he smiled at her with such warmth that it brought her to tears.

"I… I'm so sorry Sam… Please, forgive a woman for being her father… _Please."_

The desperation in her voice, the pain, the agony of her past surged forward, and to his shock, the violet that had been in her eyes retreated and they became a startling blue-silver. Like melting metal, the violet bled from her eyes as tears. Then a harder contraction hit and his musings shattered as reality slammed home.

"Jon, she needs to be abed, help her. Daenerys, when this birthing business is over, you and I shall have a talk about forgiveness. The baby will wait no longer."

Nodding, the couple made their way to the bed, where she got into position. Sam and the midwives checked her over, and in agreeance confirmed it was time to begin the pushing. For a full day, they worked, with Dany pushing and waiting for the commands to do so. When it was time for the delivery, she heard herself scream, a scream so loud and so final that Jon flinched as her nails dug mercilessly into his skin. Daenerys felt the baby slide out of her, felt him exit her body as the bed caught him, and slid him safely into the arms of Sam.

A wailing cry finally ended the vice that had been slowly squeezing Dany's heart.

She sagged against Jon, who'd placed himself behind her and woven his fingers with hers, feeling the last of her pregnancy being expelled from her body. He allowed the midwives to wipe the blood and fluid off the baby and smiled, then, cutting the chord he tearfully looked at the worn expression of his dearest friend and the exhausted form of Daenerys Targaryen.

"A girl, your Grace, a perfect babe."

Sobbing, she reached for her, desperate to hold this one before she was taken away by anyone. Sensing her distress, Jon motioned for Sam to cease his cleaning and bring the baby over, where Dany immediately held her to her heart. This perfect babe squalled and murmured in her arms, melting what was left of her frozen heart.

"She's so perfect…" Dany murmured.

Jon kissed her forehead. "She looks like you." Small tufts of silver hair poked out, the hair of their ancestors. "A little dragon."

A tear fell from her cheek. "I hope she has your eyes, Jon."

"A name my love, we must name her."

Dany smiled, then cooed into her ear.

"My father was Aerys Targaryen, the second of his name, and went mad with grief and torture. I name you Aeryssa Targaryen, first of your name, who shall bring the world to their knees with love for you. They shall love you, my darling, as much as we love you." House Targaryen, of greatness and glory, but also of brutality and tyranny. They would change it. Her, Jon, Aeryssa, and future children to follow. A House full of greatness. "Please Jon… hold your daughter." Dany's heart clenched as her beloved husband scooped up their child.

Jon marveled at her tiny hands, wrapped so tightly around his finger, and stared at the silver of her eyes. She was a miracle, this tiny bundle of joy. "I love you, sweetling." He nuzzled her head, kissed her cheek. Feeling a complete protectiveness filling him. "You will never be harmed, I promise." He would rend anyone that tried.

She stayed wrapped in Daenerys's arms for hours, sleeping quietly in her swaddled blanket. She was a quiet one, barely made a murmur for the first few hours, then when night came she began to howl. She screamed and cried, and it was only when Daenerys began singing to her in a desperate attempt to calm her did she stop.

She stared up at Dany with luminous eyes, taking in every inch of her face, her hair, and her eyes. An utter joy washed over the Queen at the grey orbs that watched her. The eyes of the Dragonwolf she so adored. Aeryssa belonged to the both of them.

When morning came, Jon took the baby, singing Northern lullabies to her while Daenerys watched happily. Sam came on the second day, with a midwife in tow to check on her, when they were satisfied her bleeding had stopped, they left, leaving Sam. He stood, his Maester's chains jingling as he walked, and made his way over to the chair beside her bed.

"Now, I believe you and I have something to discuss your Grace."

"Dany. Call me Dany or Daenerys. Such formalities are beneath you."

Sam looked taken aback by her soft rebuke but smiled and nodded.

"Well, Daenerys, I'd like to understand why you burned my family members alive on the battlefield. Why did you feel you had the right to do so?"

Daenerys looked away, her eyes finding some far-away place to watch. She had no answer for him. No small mercy for the deaths of his father and brother, no explanation to her madness other than the seemingly fabricated excuse of poison. How could she explain away his fears, his anger, when she had no answer for her mistakes?

"When my father sat upon the Iron Throne," she began quietly, "he brought the world peace and prosperity upon the first years of his life. Upon his last years, he brought madness and fear. Much like me, who followed in his footsteps with perfect precision, without even realizing it. I was poisoned, given Basilisk Blood in my wine for months by Varys," Daenerys paused here, choking back tears of anger. "so that I may fall into madness and be the monster he believed I would be."

She looked at him then, letting her walls fall away and the scared, timid girl she once was shine through. He eyed her with distrust, but also with something else, pity perhaps?

"I became a monster, who murdered thousands, destroyed houses, ruined the lives of so many families. But it was not wholly my fault. And for that, I beg your understanding and forgiveness… Though I do not deserve it."

Sam looked at her thoughtfully, seemingly lost in his own mind. He stayed that way for several minutes, weighing the truth of her words with what he knew as a Maester. When he was satisfied with whatever he'd decided about her, he stood up and walked away, leaving her to ponder his thoughts and pray for a miracle.

* * *

Blinking the sweat away from her eyes, Rhaenys jerked the glaive downward – it caught the sword coming for her, parrying the strike and giving leverage for the Princess to spin. Her booted foot slammed right into the warrior's chest, staggering him. A horizontal jab with the steel shaft knocked him down in a groaning heap. She allowed herself a triumphal smirk before twisting and blocking another thrust.

"Very good, your Grace," commented Tallar Snow, twirling his bastard sword and continuing his attack… forcing Rhaenys to give ground through precise movements. "You fight with ferocity, like a viper."

Feinting to the right, with a momentary flourish she darted to the left, spinning around and lashing with the glaive. A powerful move, only for the Northman's blade to sail upward, catching the attack.

A smile curled on Tallar Snow's lips, meeting Rhaenys blade to blade. "Not bad. Quick." She jerked the glaive, only for his armored gauntlet to block the strike. He didn't so much as grunt in pain, the two of them at a standstill. "You are fast and flexible…" His smirk only filled Rhaenys with ire. "But in strength…" Slowly, inchingly slow, her hold was pushed back. "You are still at a disadvantage." With a sudden burst of reserve strength, he shoved Rhaenys, knocked the glaive down, and tripped her with a sweep of his foot.

Down plunged Rhaenys, crashing upon the stone courtyard of Illyrio's manse. Trying to endure the bruised shoulder and gutted pride with a grunt, Rhaenys smacked the limestone tile. "Fucking hells," she hissed.

Chuckling, Tallar reached down to haul her up. "You have much anger and spirit, your Grace, but do not let it cause you to charge into a fight you cannot win." Smiling respectfully, it managed to lessen Rhaenys' ire enough for her to take the proffered hand. Dressed in sparring leathers that hugged her figure – the lithe curves firmed and toned through many moons of training – the Princess made for an intimidating sight. Something about the Dornish passion and Targaryen fire… "Your advantage is in speed and agility. Rely on that."

Rubbing her aching shoulder, Rhaenys nodded. "I suppose so." It was something for her pride to cling to – given where she had started, her proficiency has dramatically improved.

Tallar motioned to one of the servants Illyrio had all over the manse. Pentos was technically free, but the laborers were essentially slaves in all but name. "Drink," he stated as the servant brought a pitcher of watered wine. "Thirst is the first enemy of all fighters."

She took the proffered goblet and found her parched throat gulping half down in one swig. Not for the first time, she studied the enigmatic commander of the Company of the Rose – one of many sellsword outfits that Illyrio had purchased the service of alongside the slave soldiers and elite naval infantry of Volantis and the Triarchy. Tall and wiry, he possessed a hardness about him. Weathered and tough, one that could take on most and survive.

A trait possessed by all northmen? _My… supposed brother?_ Rhaenys' curiosity finally got the better of her. "Ser Tallar?"

He looked up from his goblet. "Yes, your Grace?"

"What is it like… in the North?"

Pursing his lips, the young leader of men took his time to think. While only a few words, the question was fundamentally a deep one. "It's a hard place… cold and desolate. About as many people as the Vale or Dorne, but four times the land." Looking at Rhaenys, he ended up sighing. "People are ruthless, but largely blunt and straightforward. All the plotting in the world can't save one from the cold, or starvation, or a wildling attack."

Rhaenys digested what he was saying. "Is that why your men fled for Essos? To escape the elements?"

"Most of my men are descended from those that left the north long ago… to escape your family ironically enough." Tallar shrugged his shoulders. "Some were forced to leave after the Boltons took over… or the Starks took it back from them. I fall into the middle."

"How so?" Rhaenys was curious of the land of the usurper… and the woman that stole her father away from her mother.

He led them to a marble bench, the two of them taking a seat on the polished surface. "As you can tell from my last name, I am a bastard." Tallar looked wistfully at the Narrow Sea. "Not much left for me in the land of my ancestors, so I left."

"Jon Snow certainly gained his way up in the world."

"I am pretty shocked myself. Last I saw of him, he was planned to be foisted on the Night's Watch because Lady Catelyn wished him gone."

Her eyes widened… "You're from Winterfell?" At his nod, Rhaenys' mind shuddered with the implications. "Did you know… Jon Snow?"

"Your brother? Aye, I knew him."

She frowned at the characterization. "He isn't my brother." _My father wouldn't father some bastard when he had my mother._

"That's the official line anyway, but if you ask me there is more than meets the eye…" He started to take in her ire. "Forgive me, your Grace."

Rhaenys held up a hand to keep him from leaving. "No, if this is the Northern bluntness you told me about then I have no qualms with it." She waited till he sat back down. "If I am to battle with this usurper then I should know more about him. Please go on and tell me."

Fingering the hilt of his blade, Tallar's eyes flickered from her to the ocean and back to her. "Jon Snow… he was a devoted boy. Utterly loyal to his father and siblings, but even so he was a noted outcast… because of his supposed birth."

"Because of his bastardy." While it didn't surprise Rhaenys, it did seem unfair that a child be blamed for a parent's infidelity. That she hated Jon Snow for the claimed affair between her father and Lyanna Stark didn't register. "Who was his mother thought to be?"

"There were many suggestions banded about. A whore… some maid… Ashara Dayne was considered the likeliest option, but in any case he was shunned by Lady Catelyn. While he was trained to be a highborn warrior, he was treated worse than a common servant. Such made a… very brooding, quiet child." He shrugged. "While I could see him rising through the ranks of the Night's Watch, him ending as King in the North was surprising… not to mention the stories that followed him around."

"What stories?"

"That he was raised from the dead."

Rhaenys scoffed. "Now you're just telling me lies."

"No, that's what they've been saying of him. Wildlings consider him some sort of god… most of the common folk do, along with your aunt." Rhaenys frowned… this would be harder to win than she thought.

Before the conversation could continue, Illyrio and several other men entered the courtyard. Tallar stood and bowed – Rhaenys almost did, but just managed to refrain. She was a Princess and Queen-claimant, so she needed to act like it. "Magistrar Mopatis," she stated, still seated.

With a flourish, Illyrio bowed. "Your Grace, may I present to you Lord Lysandro Rogare, Admiral of the Lysene fleet." A tall nobleman in the finest silks bowed, beard trimmed but tied into braids. "And the great Bloodbeard, Captain of the Company of the Cat." Burly and with a bushy red beard, the sellsword nodded gruffly – he looked eager to march into the fight. "They will be your subordinates as our army begins the first strike against the usurpers."

Brow raising, Rhaenys stood. "And where will this first strike be?"

Illyrio grinned, baring his rotted teeth. "Dragonstone."

* * *

_They were dancing, laughing, following the steps to some hidden music as quietly as they could. A giggle escaped her as Jon twirled her, dipping her so her silverine hair fell away from her perfect throat. He pulled her close, kissing her forehead with such tenderness her heart melted. Grey met silvery-blue, and he touched her face, letting her press her soft cheek to his palm. Then he vanishes, leaving her alone in the darkness. The cry of a baby pierces the air, as lonely and desolate as a hawk's cry, and she whirls, searching for it._

_She walks forward, blinking to see the inside of a scorching tent, leather clothing, and the stench of horse-sweat. She knows where she is. She knows who she's going to see._

_But it wasn't who she expected. In walked a young boy, no more than six or seven namedays. His skin was swarthy and hair dark, but two violet eyes the same shade as Aeryssa stared at her._ " _Muna, did you forget me?"_

 _Dany squinted, and suddenly gasped in recognition. "Rhaego... my sun and stars." She walked to him and placed a hand on his cheek, tears in her eyes at seeing him growing._ _Her Rhaego, expressions more and more like her the more she studied him, looked at her mournfully. He did not cry, but hurt shone through his eyes. Nevertheless, he nuzzled her hand as a child would their mother, making Dany smile softly._ " _No my Sun and Stars, I do not forget. I allow new love into my heart to lessen the pain of your loss."_

_The boy smiled wistfully. "I'm glad you're happy, muna. That you finally found love and family where I couldn't give it to you." He spoke with an impossible maturity, as if his soul had aged decades in the years since he was born._

_She wrapped her arms around Rhaego. "He may be my husband and my beloved Khal, and Aeryssa my beautiful daughter and my reason for being, but you will always be my Sun and Stars."_

_Her words made him burrow deeper into her side, mother and son finally having their long-held embrace denied in life. But the world bled away, leaving her to moan in agony as her first child was ripped away from her again. She fell to her knees, whimpering as hot salty tears cascaded down her face, her hands holding her upper arms._

"Dany!"

She startled awake, not realizing she'd nodded off in the chair by the window to his lullabies, and looked up at him sheepishly. She wiped a little spittle off her cheek, and giggled at the grossness of it.

"I must've dozed off, I apologize love. How's Aeryssa?"

"She's dozing too, like her _Muna_. Naughty girls, leaving me all alone in the winter."

Dany smiled, stretching under the blanket of furs she'd been wrapped in, and stood. Her belly was still swollen, but it was beginning to look more like a man's beer gut. It no longer felt like the vessel that had carried her daughter, no longer did it radiate the warmth of their daughter, or pulse with her heartbeat. She felt lonely, without the miracle of life in her womb. Was that strange? She had her daughter, a living breathing child, in her husband's arms. But still, the emptiness inside her was growing.

A knock on their door pulled her from her musings, and it was opened by Arya to reveal Bran and Meera. Meera wheeled Bran into the room, a grim look on her face. Bran shared this look, but it changed to a grimace as he smacked his hand on the doorframe. Comporting himself, he looked at them with steely grey eyes.

"Sorry to bother you, but we have some business to discuss, I've _Seen_ things. Things that should not be, and things that bode us great ill."


	11. Chapter 11: Survival of the Fittest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dearest friends! How was everyone's Thanksgiving? I hope all went marvelous and that everybody has LOADS of leftovers to munch on like happy turtles! Anyway, here's Chapter 11 of ATD, please remember to R&R and let me know your thoughts down below in the comments section!   
> I have a small contest for you guys! If anyone can guess the significance of the eye color changing in the Targaryen family, you'll ALL get a special Shoutout in the next Chapter for being such smart well-read readers!!   
> Have a great week you guys!  
> Much Love,   
> BlackRose999 and Longclaw1-6

_It was over in an instant. A flash of darkness, then bright white light… it ended with the two of them landing in reality once more. At least a figment of reality. "We're back in the Red Keep," Dany murmured, only just now registering the sound of clashing blades and yelling soldiers._

" _When are we?" Jon asked just as a panicked guardsman in Targaryen colors ran past, his arm drenched in blood. He quickly shoved Dany to the wall, but the man simply ran through his body as if it weren't there. Behind, two other soldiers in Lannister colors were hot on his heels, unseeing of the two monarchs. "They can't see us?"_

" _No." Both found Bran standing upright, the smallest of smiles on his face as he looked around. "They can't. We can observe, but not interfere – such is the price of the sight." Jon nodded grimly, while Dany sighed. "We're here at the Sack of King's Landing. Jaime Lannister has killed the Mad King and Tywin's forces…" A scream rang out through the halls, drawing Bran's concern. "We must hurry… or else we'll miss her." Instantaneously, he transported them from the keep itself to the beach._

_There, a bearded guardsman was dragging a young girl not three namedays old. "Is that…?" Dany began._

" _Yes," replied Bran, cutting her off._

_As for the girl, she struggled to keep up. "I want my muna!" she cried._

" _Hurry, move faster!" The man hissed in her ear, pushing and shoving her in front of him, his eyes darting around the darkened capitol like a man afraid for his life. Desperate. He yanked her forward again, this time by the hair as he led her from the opening of the cavern towards a waiting skiff. Waiting there were two Braavosi sailors, ready to take them to a boat waiting offshore._

_Someone cried out in the distance above them in the keep, a high keening sound that made Daenerys wince. Screams, she understood now. Someone was screaming. The sound cut off abruptly, and the silence of the midnight hours crept forward again, muffling all else but the sounds of their breathing and their hurried footfalls._

_The girl recognized the voice. "Muna!"_

" _It's too late for her!"_

_Realization dawned on Jon. "Princess Elia?" His father's first wife… his stepmother he figured._

_Dany understood. "Raped and killed by the Mountain." Bran nodded with a sad frown._

" _Rhaenys was the only survivor," he began as they watched her being loaded into the skiff. "She was found under her father's bed, hiding for a reason she couldn't quite understand." He flashed an image into their heads._

_The man, a slim muscled creature of thirty or thereabouts, had yanked her out without so much as a scrap of compassion and forced her into a run that made her lungs burn – replaced with some Lysene servant with the same look as bait for the Lannisters. They reached the beach soon after escaping the Keep, with him all but throwing her aboard and covering her with a blanket amidst woven baskets of various grains once aboard ship. She stayed there, cramped and weeping, for days. He'd allow her to come out and eat or drink during the night, and relieve herself only when he was sure they wouldn't be seen._

_By the time they arrived in Essos – Jon and Dany brought there by Bran - she was filthy and haggard. "I'm so sorry for your loss my dear… Come, I'll care for you now."_

_Time passed rapidly, Jon and Daenerys watching the last living Targaryen besides them as she grew. Rhaenys was raised sweetly… when her guardian was around. When she was alone, she was mocked… beaten and sneered at to make her stronger – or simply for the amusement of those in her company. No wealth or power to defend her, she was left isolated and alone most days, locked away in a room to conduct her studies and training. When she turned ten, she was given to a man for safekeeping, away from the Magister's holdings. Maegrin, a man of cruelty, who used his women like men used broken horses. She was treated only slightly differently, spared the rapes and defilement but exposed to them heaped upon the others. He didn't slacken on the beatings for the slightest grievances, either by him or his right-hand man on numerous occasions._

_As Daenerys had been to her brother, to the men that sheltered her Rhaenys was merely a slave. An asset to be used rather than a cherished, beautiful girl to be loved and respected. Faced with this, with the abuse and neglect, oftentimes they watched as she stared into an empty space._

_Not once did she dare to cry out, to assert herself as a Princess of the great House of the Dragon. And there in the corner, perhaps she could see a man in a chair with two people beside him, watching as her heart hardened and mind grew bitter with broken hearts and tear-filled eyes._

It was like a snap, the way they were pulled from the vision. Like they were coming up from air after holding their faces gently in the water, shocking and quick. Daenerys felt her heartbeat pick up, the stillness of her soul easing as life came back to her. Jon looked paler than normal, queasy even, and braced himself against the walls.

"You see, she lives. Rhaenys Targaryen, daughter of Rhaegar and Elia, survived the Sack of King's Landing all those years ago."

Dany looked at Jon again, seeing color returning to his face she nodded, then leveled darkening eyes at Bran.

"Illyrio Mopatis, that's who's guarding her." She inhaled deeply, steeling herself in the face of all that she'd witnessed. "I'd know that voice anywhere."

The one formerly known as the Three-eyed Raven nodded once, a smile creeping across his face. "Correct. Magister Illyrio is housing the lost Targaryen Princess, and has been for a very long time. He housed her even when you were with him, my queen."

Shock filled her like a flash of lightning, and then anger swept in and took its place. She was enraged, violet filling her eyes with such potency that Jon worried she'd cry purple tears. "Dany…" he murmured, clasping her hand. She had told him of Illyrio, how he had plucked Dany and Viserys off of the streets of Pentos and housed them for over two years. The time of peace before she was sold to the Dothraki.

"He was yet another one of them… a betrayer and traitor." She shook her head, but never let go of Jon's hand. It grounded her. "He swore to my brother, called him King even, that he'd help us win back the Iron Throne. But he housed my niece behind our backs, depriving us of a familial reunion." Dany suddenly shrieked, tearing away and kicking at a bush. "My nephew treated a bastard all his life! My niece, treated as a slave!" Anger rolled off her in waves, screaming to the high heavens. "He will _burn_ for that, I swear it! By the Old Gods and the New!"

She felt herself tremble with rage, and then the wailing cry of her daughter came like the tinkling of a tiny bell, and suddenly the rage washed out of her. Gone was the murderous feeling of betrayal, gone was the feeling of hurt and fear.

All that was left for her at the moment was Jon and Aeryssa.

Seeing her anger dim, her tension slackening, Jon walked to her. Took her lightly in his arms and was relieved when she rested her head upon his chest. "Dany, you can't kill him so recklessly." He was not one for politics, but he was the King now. It was his duty and surprisingly, Jon found his mind molded well for it. "Our situation is too perilous. Six wars in the last seven years have left this land ripped apart with only Dorne and the Reach left to supply us armies."

"He can burn with our dragons alone," she murmured softly. Her heart wasn't in it anymore, but she meant it all the same.

"Aye, we could, but we need Pentos… our land is battered, winter still scars us with famine and blighted harvests. Without the merchant-kings of the Free Cities we are lost. We need their silk for our backs and their spices for our meals, we would have to deal with the Slave-Cities overwhelming us if we go after them. And you of all people know how hateful they can be!"

Daenerys sighed, accepting his words even if she didn't like their implication. "I just want to see my daughter. Please…"

He relaxed, rubbing her back. "How can I deny you that?" Jon turned to Bran. "Brother, are you…"

"I'm fine, Jon," he replied. "Just have one of the guards send for Meera… or Podrick. I'll stay by the weirwood for a little bit." And so they left him there, Jon guiding his beloved bride back to the keep.

Minutes later, she was sitting in the chair carefully with Aeryssa in her arms. Daenerys traced her nail gently down the baby's cheek, smiling at the way she grabbed at her finger and giggled at the ticklish sensation. Her body felt cold, empty. She missed the weight of her child, the knowing that she had created a new life and the wonder of waiting for the new offspring. She rejoiced at the proof she'd created this healthy, perfect babe, but her heart was sad and lonely. Not even Jon's warmth in their bed beside her at night warmed her heart, nor the joyful giggles of her newborn babe.

Jon was right, he usually was, but in this case her outburst was dangerous. She had felt the Dragon waking within her, and it was only when she heard Aeryssa's cries that she forced herself to calm. Taking on even one Pentosi Magister was dangerous, as they helped defend their flanks from the Slave Cities of Essos, the ones Daenerys had conquered and freed so many years ago as well as the ones that remained.

Suddenly nervous, she looked at Jon in terror, she hadn't received a single letter of report from Daario in a year, and was only now realizing it.

"Jon… I haven't heard from the Bay of Dragons for a full year. What if… What if they're no longer free cities? And Daario Naharis's head is on a spike?"

Jon paled. Understanding lighting his features like the icy light from the Northern Wall, he looked at her and nodded, silently pledging to send a raven to check on them.

Even as his ire rose at the thought of this Daario Naharis.

* * *

The feast was lively, with people drinking and eating merrily, shouting to their neighbors to be heard over the roaring of the hall. Everyone, from the Northmen to the Dothraki to the Freefolk and even to the normally prudish Reachmen had succumbed to the temptation. Wine and ale poured liberally, hunks of meat were scarfed down with cheese-smeared loaves of fresh bread, and groups of men and the occasional woman began spontaneously belting out bawdy melodies at the top of their lungs. A traditional Northern feast.

Sansa Stark once loved such feasts, even if they had been a little too ribald for the southern tastes her mother had installed in her. The memories of that last feast in Winterfell, dressed in her best and thinking nothing would be better than attracting Joffrey's eye flashed through her mind, and she shuddered. Since then her girlish liking had changed into a womanly gloom. She hated such frivolity now – the noise, the drunkard's pawing at the female servants, and the idiots thinking it was their time to shine but instead making utter fools of themselves. She no longer saw the point of it, but was able to peer through the outer layer and see the truth.

All of this was a mask for the true malevolence of court. Of sadistic, selfish scum trying to play the game of thrones, mostly in the south but of the north as well. So what if no feast was thrown to 'honor' their guest? What honor came from a lousy feast?

Her family held other ideas. Jon and Daenerys twirled on the dance floor to a jaunty tune, smiling and laughing as they decided to let go for a little while. Nestled among the tables was Arya, surrounded by a bunch of Free Folk and Dothraki as she drank them under the table – the ever-present Gendry Baratheon never too far away from her. Even Bran was enjoying himself in his own little way, huddled in conversation with Meera Reed as he ate more than he usually had in three days.

Sighing, she stood, deciding that it was best to get the whole thing over with as soon as possible so she may return to the safety of her rooms. Ending this in a manner that didn't hurt the merriment of her loved ones. Clearing her throat, she waited until the hall died down to a murmur, and smiled as warmly as she could at her guests. With only the tolling of the bells to talk over, ringing for a full week now, she could speak mostly at ease.

"Welcome! Honored Lords and Ladies, to the Celebration of Aeryssa Targaryen's birth! We celebrate new beginnings, the restoration of a powerful and respected House, and the birth of our new Crown Princess."

Cheers went up and mugs were raised making her wince at the sounds, reminding her of the way Ramsay would have parties with his friends after her assaults.

She steeled herself though, smiling as her gaze fell on Jon and Dany. "Please eat and drink your fill, take full advantage of our hospitality as today is a day of great celebration! Long live the King and the Queen! Long live Princess Aeryssa!"

"HAIL! LONG LIVE THE KING, LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!"

The shouts rang out like the booming sound of a dragon's cry, fitting the aura of the party. Jon and Daenerys made their way from the dance floor to sit proudly beside her, a nursemaid quickly lowering the new babe in Daenerys' arms. A smile graced both their faces, Jon leaning over to kiss Sansa on the cheek before Dany hugged her one-handed. Her returned smile was the first genuinely expressed emotion of the night.

Pulling back from the hug, Dany studied Sansa. Something seemed off about her goodsister, a type of draining sadness she couldn't quite pin down and name. But she knew that if she wanted her help, or her counsel, she'd seek it out. Internally shrugging, Daenerys turned her attention back to the feast… only to inconspicuously poke her elbow into Sansa's side. Seeking her attention.

Sansa narrowed her eyes, only to follow a jerk of Dany's head to the floor of the Great Hall. There, she was surprised to find a pair of eyes watching her in awe as she scanned the faces of their guests.

He was tall, with what appeared to be eyes as green as the midsummer grasses, and a chiseled face. He was handsome, in a way Joffrey and Ramsay had never been, and radiated a calm she's never felt before. Sansa gulped, unsure of what was going on.

The man seemed to steady himself before he approached the Lord's table. "Your Graces," he bowed with deference and respect. "My Lady." His address of Sansa was just as respectful, but with an added… hint of something to it. "Deepest congratulations on the birth of the new Princess."

Confusion as to who this was ended up moot as her brother spoke up. "Thank you, Lord Hornwood. We are glad you could make it to Winterfell."

Now Sansa remembered. Larence Snow, the bastard son of the late Lord Hornwood… legitimized after the Battle of the Bastards as the house held no members aside from very distant cousins. Larence fought well at Winterfell twice and against Cersei in King's Landing, so he certainly deserved his legitimization and title – a loyal bannerman.

"Sister?"

She blinked. "What?" Apparently, someone had said something that she didn't hear.

"Lord Hornwood has asked for a dance with you," Jon replied, smirking.

Before Sansa could decline – shocked she was at the offer – Daenerys made the decision for her. "I believe she would be honored, right Sansa?"

Looking from her brother, to Daenerys, to Lord Hornwood, and then back to Daenerys, Sansa pursed her lips. There was no way she could say no, for such would insult her Queen in front of the entire North and most of the Reach. Smiling stiffly, she nodded. "I shall accept, Lord Larence." Sansa stood, casting Dany a withering look that the Targaryen Queen only chuckled off, bouncing her babe. Without further delay, she made her way towards the dance floor.

"I am honored by this, my Lady," Larence said, smiling widely. It made him all the more handsome.

Sansa's lips were tight regardless. "The pleasure is mine." Cersei had quickly taught her the true way of court, and while Sansa hated having internalized her worst lessons, these were less problematic. She bowed before him as the other ladies did, a custom she'd hated since birth, and slowly allowed her fingers to touch his. With his palm upright, fingers unlaced, he felt warm to the touch. A little shiver of electricity passed just as the band picked up a fast-paced tune. Enough to discourage conversation but not enough to truly cause a sweat.

A perfect song for the moment.

Rough hands that seemed made to fit hers gently pressed themselves into her flesh like he was afraid she'd shatter there before him, and they danced. Her right hand behind her back, she kept her eyes on him, marveling at the calm she was beginning to feel in his presence. Sansa allowed him to lead her, and after a moment found it to be a gentle pace that didn't seem to match the quickness of the music, and inside she thanked him for it. She hadn't danced in so long, her steps were unsure and hurried, but with him dancing at this much slower pace she felt more at ease.

The music suddenly picked up, and suddenly she was touching him, pulled so close to his body she could smell his musky scent. She felt like running, jumping through the trees whooping for joy at the smell of it. His hand traveled down the small of her back, dipping her and her mind vanished, replaced only by a dancer she'd never met before. She matched him, and the faster the music got the more heated their exchange became until suddenly all sound stopped and she stood face to face with him, chest heaving, hair fallen from its tight holdings, and eyes wild.

"That was…" he breathed. "Quite fun." A soft laugh left his lips.

Reality slammed home, and she quickly looked away. A quick bow and mumble of thanks later, Sansa found herself hurrying from the great hall, ignoring Daenerys's questioningly concerned gaze.

In a haze, heart pounding in her chest, the moment Sansa regained control of her senses had her notice the snow falling around her. Somehow she had wandered to the Godswood, stopping only when she was beneath the boughs of the red-leaved tree. A comforting place, the place father always loved being in before King's Landing. Before everything went to shit.

Lip quivering, Sansa fell to her knees and let herself sob. She hated how weak she was being, but the moment with Lord Hornwood was just too much to bear. He was hauntingly beautiful, but so had Ramsay and Joffrey. She could not deny that she felt herself gravitate toward him – much as it was irritating, there was a slight urge… a desire to talk to him, to know him. _'Perhaps you'll find the same happiness I did.'_ The memory rang out and she gagged, fear like an icy shard in her throat.

"Are you alright?"

She whirled, and met those tantalizing green eyes with her own terrified blue. Stepping back, she silently begged whatever gods were listening to help her. Straightening her spine and forcing her tears to cease, she gritted out a stiff "I'm fine," before attempting to leave.

The man held up a hand, smiling at her.

"I don't like leaving a lady in such a condition, may I escort you back?"

He was being respectful. Sansa couldn't fault him for it, so her tone softened – though it couldn't be called warm. "I'm alright, my Lord. I need not an escort."

"Alright." His own tone seemed… affronted. "I understand the need not to be close to someone of… my birth and station."

A moment's confusion passed before Sansa understood. "No, that's not it." Gods, she gave the wrong impression. "My brother was of that status for the longest time. I didn't treat him properly for years, and it was a mistake that I sought and now seek to rectify."

He looked at her with those green eyes. "I've come to terms with my birth, Lady Sansa, but you can forgive me for being suspicious."

Once again, she felt guilt for how she made Jon. No wonder he had been such a quiet child. "And forgive me for giving off that impression – I would accept your escort, by the way." That put a smile on his face.

Sansa found she rather liked it.

* * *

"Loose!" Sword slicing down, the siege operator chopped the rope in two to release the catapult… the first of five in quick succession. Flaming projectiles, some just pitched soaked boulders while others were hollow spheres filled with hot oil, arced towards the great keep of Dragonstone. The large ships of the Tyroshi and Lysene fleets had passed it for the fifth attack run, groaning sails and overburdened oarsmen straining their efforts in order to support the landing marines.

"We caught them off guard," Captain Salladhor Saan said, gazing through his spyglass. "No ships nearby, and no dragons. I love it when it's easy."

"Don't let your guard down just yet, Captain," the hardened woman said beside him. Her hands gripped the railings, watching the battle before her with a frown. "How much longer?" she called to one of the marine commanders.

"Not much longer, your Grace," he replied. "The fighting seems to have reached the inside of the keep."

Rhaenys nodded. "Good."

The attack was simple, go in, take out the understaffed and underequipped defenses while the usurpers were in the North, and claim what was rightfully hers. Rhaenys was dressed to impress, with no armor or tunic for her. Clothed in a maroon gown that featured a black fur collar and golden filigree designs, her dainty hands were covered by black gloves, golden rings, and a ruby bracelet. Her deep brown hair was brushed into a glossy mane that reached the middle of her back, and her ears were adorned with gold leaf earrings. Rhaenys felt imperious, like a true goddess on earth, but something felt off. Her body felt anxious, like something on that island was waiting for her.

Clapping hands drawing her attention, Illyrio laughed. "It is time, dear Rhaenys. The keep is ours."

Much as she wished to remain clear-headed, Rhaenys couldn't help but feel a little giddy. _I have returned to our keep, father._ She could almost see Rhaegar Targaryen smile down on her. "To the skiff, and be quick about it."

Her army of several thousand, like eager hounds, managed to clear a wide beachhead ahead of her. One that calmed her worries of ambush, but not of the trembling and nervous Illyrio. He watched her, as if she didn't notice his eyes on her every movement, with odd concern. As though a thought troubled him.

"I wonder what could befuddle the great Magister of Pentos?"

He startled at her question, clearly not expecting her to pick up on his curiosity. He gaped a moment, clearly trying to come up with a logical answer instead of a truthful one, and she inwardly growled. So he was to lie to her too.

It appeared that all men were liars.

"Nevermind." Rhaenys jumped off the side of the skiff, plopping onto the wet sand. "Come, I have a keep to claim as my own."

She left him there without another word, uncaring of his annoyance or his increasing trepidation, and made her way into the Keep. It was beautiful, the birthplace of her ancestors and her bitch of an aunt, in a cold and brutally honest kind of way. It made no lies of what it was, of what secrets it may hold. And as she stepped over the bodies of the Unsullied, her mercenaries, and Dothraki men she found herself pondering the pull she felt. It was like a tether, a mystical leash held her and pulled her along, leading her deeper and deeper into the depths of the castle.

She came upon more corpses, this time a great many Unsullied who appeared to have been guarding a room, and cautiously stepped inside. It was a dark red bedchamber, perhaps the King and Queen's, that featured a four-poster bed upon a raised dais on the left side of the room. Targaryen Banners hung everywhere, beside the doors and the bed, above the crackling braziers. _Perhaps they need reminding of who they are._ She thought snidely, as though the notion made her angry.

A faint cry caught her attention, and suddenly her eyes were fixed on a wall at the very back of the chamber, carefully examining it for any creases or niches she could find. Finding none, she then looked at the braziers in annoyance, pausing when the simmering red gems caught her eye. These braziers had gems, where the others did not. Why? Fingering one, she heard a soft _click_ and suddenly she understood, it was a key. She spent several minutes finding the ones that clicked, and when she'd pressed the last one, the wall opened.

A staircase greeted her as the wall swung open just wide enough for a single person to slip through, and lead down to a small room. More braziers filled this room from end to end, keeping the temperature high and humid for a reason she didn't understand. In the center of the room against the back wall was a large bowl of sand with what appeared to be a leather bag inside, this perplexed her, what the hell was a _bag_ doing in this hidden chamber outside a heavily guarded room?

Did it contain confidential files, secrets?

Snarling, she stepped forward, determined to find out what was inside that was so damned important, and recoiled when the bag _moved._ A head rose, a tiny, bronze head with whirling mint green eyes. The cry came again, and only then did her brain understand what it was she was looking at, a young dragon.

"You… You were what they were guarding…"

She reached out, feeling the uncontrollable urge to touch its scales, and watched as it pressed its head into her palm. Joy swept through her in an unchecked wave, filling her with a sense of power and control she'd never felt before. Gently, she picked up the creature and watched it stretch in her hands, revealing ruby-red wing membranes and ivory claws.

"Wings like blood, perhaps that should be your name, Bloodwyng."

An answering chirp made her grin and laugh.

Turning, she carefully made her way back up the stairs, smiling as her new friend clamored up her arm and onto her shoulders, wrapping her tail around her neck like a choker. She walked through Dragonstone with Bloodwyng on her shoulder, ignoring the looks of awe and shock her guard gave her as she passed them, and the look of utter rage on the surviving Unsullied men's faces as she approached them. She'd ordered some to be left alive, to tell the Imitation Targaryen's of her coming.

" _Doru-borto aspo, gaomagon ao gīmigon skoriot iksā?"_

Turning to face the one who'd spoken, she smiled and leaned down slightly, very aware of the balance she needed to keep her dragon on her shoulder. She understood him of course, Illyrio had made sure she could read, write and speak fluent High Valyrian like Daenerys could.

" _Hen rhinka. Iksan lenton."_

Laughing at the expressions of horror on their faces, she turned and stalked up to Illyrio, who looked utterly terrified of her now. Bloodwyng shrieked at him, whirling mint eyes narrowed in anger. _She doesn't like Illyrio… Why? What could she know that I don't?_ Rhaenys thought absent-mindedly, keeping a growingly distrustful eye on Illyrio. _And how do I know Bloodwyng is a she?_

She didn't understand how, but she knew in her soul that Bloodwyng was a female dragon, perhaps one of the only ones left. She could feel herself knitting closer and closer to her dragon, like she was made for her, perhaps even destined for her. Stroking the scales under her eye, she smiled softly as her little head leaned greedily into the scratching sensation. Violet eyes just beginning to show golden streaks slid lazily to meet his own nervous orbs, matching the calm she radiated like the flow of water in the rivers of Lyse.

"Send a raven to the usurpers Illyrio, tell them the true Queen of Westeros has come home."

* * *

_Translations:_

"Stupid bitch, do you know where you are?" - _"Doru-borto aspo, gaomagon ao gīmigon skoriot iksā?"_

"Of course. I'm home." - _"Hen rhinka. Iksan lenton"_


	12. Chapter Twelve: Playing With Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovelies!
> 
> How have you been this week? Have you been well? I heard about the covid cases spiking and I worry about the whole lot of you! Please review and let me know how you're faring during this pandemic! As always Longclaw1-6 and I own nothing but the storyline in this marvelous book, all characters, names, locations, and dates are from George R.R. Martin.  
> Since nobody commented about the contest we, unfortunately, can't do any shoutouts this time. However, you can still theorize to your heart's content! 
> 
> Please remember to R&R! Your input helps us better the story and keeps us afloat!
> 
> Much Love,
> 
> BlackRose999

" _Dracarys?"_

Rhaenys' voice was a gentle whisper as a mother would to an infant, peering intently at the soulful mint eyes of her dragon. There was no response from the hatchling. _"Dracarys,"_ she said more firmly, urging the newly named Bloodwyng to breath fire. She was already so small, but what would a dragon be if it couldn't produce dragonfire?

The Princess was sitting on the floor of her new chambers, dressed in a simple red tunic and trousers with Bloodwyng perched delicately on her leg in front of a small bowl of meat. At her constant urgings, Bloodwyng cocked her head at her, chirping questioningly.

"Gods, it's hard to hold ire on you when you look at me like that," Rhaenys chuckled, stroking her head with her finger. "Just try for _muna,_ alright?" The minty eyes sparkled, Bloodwyng bobbing her head in supposed agreement. Rhaenys smiled then repeated the command, more forcefully this time.

After a moment, she hiccuped and a jet of flame shot out, singeing a chunk of meat in front of her.

Rhaenys clapped her hands. " _Sȳz riña! Kessa īlon sylugon naejot sōvegon hembar?"_

She giggled at the way Bloodwyng flapped her wings excitedly, and allowed her to clamor up her body to her shoulder. Claws gripped tightly into the leather wrapped arm she sported – something the tanner in Dragonstone village had made for her for this very purpose – as Bloodwyng preferred her left shoulder to her right… a shrill shriek resounded in her ears as her door swung open to reveal one of the servants. "Yes?" Rhaenys asked cheerily, reflecting her good mood.

The servant was Westerosi, but all allowed to continue working in the keep were longtime residents of the island – loyal to House Targaryen but also those that lived through Stannis Baratheon's reign as Prince. While Illyrio and the other magistrates and triarchs insisted on their own body servants, Rhaenys preferred the locals given they were loyal to her house, and as a result they knew not what to truly make of her. She opposed their beloved King and Queen, but Rhaenys was clearly who she said she was.

She was too Dornish to be a Blackfyre, too much like the still remembered Elia Martell, and why else would the hatchling bond with her? "Your Grace," the young woman stated, wary of the dragon. "Magistrar Mopatis wishes your audience."

Rhaenys scowled, but sighed. "Let him in." The servant bowed and left, replaced by the nervous Illyrio not long after. He gazed with a palpable fear at her dragon, growing larger every day now, and wondered when her fire would come to her. While Bloodwyng was tolerable with the servants, she growled and bared her tiny teeth at the fat magistrar, making him flinch. Rhaenys fought a smirk, standing from her perch on the floor. "May I help you Magister? It's rude to enter a Lady's room so suddenly, even at her consent."

"I need to speak to you about that… the- dragon."

Cocking her head, Rhaenys was very aware of the angry cries Bloodwyng was exhibiting in Illyrio's presence. She locked ever-clearing eyes on him, and he startled at the obvious brown streaks that shone through the radiant violet, and again wondered how much she was beginning to figure out.

"Oh? Has she offended you somehow?"

"N-No. It- She just seems agitated, all the time. The men think you can't control her."

Rhaenys suddenly stood, glaring at Illyrio with such anger that he took a step back. She held up her arm a bit, smirking when Bloodwyng immediately got into her 'ready' position.

" _Sōvegon!"_

Bloodwyng launched into flight, soaring perfectly in the air and making small circles above them. She hovered for a bit, then landed back on Rhaenys's arm without hesitation. She thought a moment about making her display her firepower, but decided against it, a sudden unease of him making her question whether that would be a good idea.

With Maegrin, she had learned to never tip one's hand – never give anyone an advantage over herself. While Illyrio was essentially the man behind her claim to the throne, did she trust him?

Not as far as she could throw him.

"I see… Is that all she can do?"

"No," Rhaenys replied. "She can fetch for me, she knows basic commands and understands them easily enough, we still haven't gotten her fire down yet but we're getting close."

She was afraid, having him know about her breathing fire was one thing, but if he thought she wasn't getting far enough with her dragon she feared he'd take the poor creature from her. So she lied – rather seamlessly she observed with not a little pride – better to keep him in the dark than lose a piece of her soul. "Is that all?"

Illyrio shook his head. "If you don't mind, I have something I need to show you." He pulled a ravenscroll from the folds of his robes.

Rhaenys sighed but nodded. "Bloodwyng, _ēdrugon._ " The dragon hissed, not happy, but obeyed her chosen mother. With a flap of her wings she headed for her perch at the foot of Rhaenys' large bed – the bed of the Lord of Dragonstone – and curled up into a light nap. Turned out she really did need it. "Alright, Illyrio, what is this scroll about?" She sat at a table by the window, overlooking the expanse of the island.

Taking a seat across from her, Illyrio slid the scroll across the table. "Your living family… your mother's family," he added, noting her look of puzzlement. "Princess Arianne of House Martell, your cousin and current ruler of Dorne."

 _My muna's family…_ With a desperation that surprised even herself, Rhaenys snatched the scroll and opened it up, perusing the elaborate scrawl.

_Dearest cousin,_

_Words cannot express how overjoyed I was at your return to the living. I remember that even years later, my late father and uncle drove themselves to despair that your mother, brother, and yourself were taken from them. I only wish they were alive to see you._

_Your mother is from the blood of House Martell, unbowed, unbent, and unbroken. I would be remiss if I sided with anyone when the blood of my aunt remains alive, therefore ten thousand spears under my brother Quentyn shall be at your command whenever you so choose._

_Long may you reign,_

_Princess Arianne Martell_

While Rhaenys initially felt a surge of affection and relief, it soon hardened into an icy frown. "What does she want of me?" Even blood didn't act without ulterior motives – she couldn't assume mere altruism from her cousin.

Illyrio smiled, showing off his rotted teeth. "In spite of your isolation, you have the cunning of your ancestors." She did not return his smile. "Based on the whispers of my old friend's network, the Dornish wish to restore the influence they temporarily gained during the reign of Daeron II. Your mother, Princess Elia, was betrothed to your father for just that reason, and they see you as their chance reborn as opposed to the northern-influenced usurpers."

Nodding, Rhaenys supposed that made sense. There was another angle involved, but with the current information available she couldn't deduce it. _Caution is needed._ "Alright, send a raven to Sunspear. Tell my cousin that if she provides the spears as well as the food and ships to transport them, then I shall make her my Hand of the Queen."

Sputtering suddenly, Illyrio looked shocked. "Hand, your Grace? Not I?"

Her eyebrow rose. "You are the magistrar of Pentos. I cannot have a foreign dignitary as my Hand."

"But can you trust Princess Arianne."

"I do not, but she is family and just by sending this letter she opens herself to treason charges from the usurpers." Leaning back, Rhaenys laughed softly. "Besides, I would be better served to watch her close than from afar."

He nodded. "Very good, your Grace. I shall send the raven forthwith." Illyrio excused himself, leaving her alone with her thoughts and her prayers. Rhaenys breathed a sigh of relief she didn't know she held inside, rising and making her way to the bed in which she just collapsed back first onto. Bloodwyng chirped quietly beside her, and nuzzled her cheek gently.

" _Nyke gīmigon byka jorrāelagon, nyke ȳdra daor pāsagon zirȳla."_

A growling chirp was her only reply. And she giggled, letting Bloodwyng crawl on her stomach. The little creature would be fiercer than even Daenerys's Drogon and Jon's Rhaegal combined once she grew into herself. Perhaps Rhaenys would be fierce too, once she learned to express herself again. She helped the little creature onto her shoulder, and then went to practice. Her throwing knives could use a little more expertise and she needed to brush up on her broadsword skills, but now with a little creature to impress, Rhaenys felt herself smirking with glee at the thought of getting down and dirty with sword in hand.

The Usurpers would have no idea who was coming for them, until it was too late and her sword glistened red with their blood.

The legacy of her father would be secure then.

* * *

Daenerys would never get over flying, the thrill, the unchecked joy that sang through her soul when she was atop Drogon and the wind whistled past her ears in a deafening roar. For the first time since she'd given birth two moons ago, she was allowed to climb onto his scales and soar through the orange-tinted clouds above the royal procession. With Jon and Sansa below her guarding Aeryssa, she was allowed this one flight with the insistence that halfway home she switch with Jon. She was nearing that marker now, she spared a thought of breaking her promise, but reminded herself that this new dawn would not prosper so.

With a heavy heart, she allowed herself to angle Drogon into a descending flight, though even he protested at the ride cut short. When she landed, she felt herself experience great pains at her body's remembrance of Dragonflight, and silently cursed herself for forgetting that it would likely hurt to ride again after so long.

Jon of course, wasted no time in picking up on it. "Sit Dany, please, rest."

"Oh I'm fine you worrymonger, I just need to stretch."

Jon glared at her back, thoroughly aware that she was lying, since she now walked slightly bow-legged. Arya grinned at him, enjoying their squabbling.

"Perfect, if your fine then you'll be able to ride front with Sansa and Arya on Wintermere."

The look of unabashed terror on her face at the mere mention of horse-riding nearly did him in, and then her face flushed as she smacked him for baiting her.

"That's not nice! It's been months since I flew!"

"If it's so bad why not wait awhile longer to get back into it?" He replied cheekily, knowing she'd lose her mind at the thought.

"Don't you dare! I've been fine for weeks Jon!" Dear gods had that been a _whine_? "If you take flying from me again I'll deny you for the entirety that you deny me!"

He laughed, the kind of laugh that brings you to tears.

"You liar! You'd be a quivering mess before I ever gave in!"

She took offense to that. "I would not!"

He shook his head and climbed atop Rhaegal, giggling like a drunkard the whole way, much to her displeasure. When he threw a kiss her way, Dany turned the other cheek with a huff, but a tiny smile made its way to her face anyway. He was the perfect husband, even if he infuriated her. Dany blew a kiss back just as Rhaegal lurched into the air.

She had plenty of time to think while sitting with Aeryssa in their carriage. Her mind kept traveling back, to her lonely years in Essos, where she was denied even a friend. Viserys had once been kind, but that didn't last – broken completely into a bitter, brutal man by having to sell all of their mother's treasures and trinkets just to eat. Daenerys had no one who truly understood her, to truly love with all a dragon had. Viserys was mad, Rhaego died young… only till Jon, and there had been so many times where she had nearly lost him before they even met. The thought brought a tear to her eye as she cuddled her daughter closely.

 _But it wasn't just him…_ There had been another, right under her nose. Of all the times she stayed in the free cities, how easily could they have passed where Rhaenys stayed, as connected to her as Jon was – the child of her late brother. Dany couldn't help but wonder if having Rhaenys there might have lessened the burden of her brother. She was lonely, yes, but Rhaenys must have been horribly abused, farther than what she'd seen, without Viserys there to protect her like he did Dany.

It didn't have to be that way. They could have all been together, ready to sail to Westeros and save Jon when the time came… if not for the one person she thought loyal enough to give her shelter and comforts.

Again, she cursed Illyrio for his deception. And sent a silent prayer to whatever gods were listening to help them fight her, and if possible, help them save her.

"Your Grace!" Gently rocking the sleeping babe, Dany angled her head towards the window when Arya stuck her head through it. "Raven from King's Landing, bearing Ser Davos' seal."

Dany took it immediately, for Davos wouldn't contact them on the road without good reason.

Turned out, it was the best of reasons… if not the most welcome.

* * *

The shriek of terror disappeared rather quickly into the gusty void between the twin cliff faces of the Eyrie, as if no trace of the poor soul was or had ever been left. Clapping merrily, Lord Robin Arryn looked as if he had discovered a bottomless pastry jar. "That's what happens when you try and pilfer my pantry – stupid oaf. Now a flying oaf, tee hee."

Winches groaning as the Moon Door slid closed once more, the King of the Seven Kingdoms tried his best not to say something true but rather impolite. _I need this man's cooperation, even if he is an overgrown child._ "Criminals must receive justice, aye," Jon finally said.

While Lord Robin hadn't changed one bit from the childhood brat that Tyrion and Sansa had said about him or that Jon himself saw at the Great Council many moons before, luck found both Lord Yohn Royce and Ser Harrold Hardyng to be present. Each was far more reliable to properly negotiate with. "Perhaps we can move on to the matters his Grace arrived to discuss," Lord Royce remarked to his liege.

Rolling his eyes at being interrupted from his fun, Robin waved his assent. "Very well. What have you come to discuss, your Grace?"

It was a bad idea, the little voice figured inside Jon's head. Coming to the Eyrie without Dany, during the time he was supposed to be shadowing the royal procession heading to King's Landing… she could very well take it quite badly, but Jon was still determined. They needed the men. Needed the powerful heavy men-at-arms that the Vale provided in order to take on the combined might of Volantis and the Triarchy. "You are aware of the capture of Dragonstone?"

"That some usurper claims to be the daughter of Elia Martell and your own sire?" Ser Harrold remarked. "Yes, it's the talk of the Seven Kingdoms."

Jon realized he did not like 'Harry the Heir.' Too much of a right cunt, but he held a sort of cunning that meant he couldn't be overlooked like 'Sweetrobin' was. "She has the Triarchy and Volantis acting behind her."

"Not to mention the Dornish will back her, or at the very least stay neutral," Royce said. "If she is your half-sister by blood."

"Pfft, please. She's probably some Blackfyre bastard they dress up as a Targaryen." Hardyng laughed. "Couldn't even find a boy, had to rely on some whore? Women have no business meddling in affairs of men as this."

Given Daenerys wasn't here, the insult was veiled at worst, but Jon clenched his fists regardless. From outside, Rhaegal suddenly roared – shaking the very rock foundations of the great keep. Many flinched or tensed, while Robin seemed delighted at the presence of the dragon. _An Arryn trait since the 'King who flew.'_ "Anyone that holds the support of tens of thousands of soldiers behind them must be treated as a grievous threat."

Shifting his gaze at Lord Royce, Jon nodded with respect. "The Redwyne fleet and the Greyjoy fleet can match the fleets of the free cities. However, they outnumber us on land while controlling Blackwater Bay due to their capture of Dragonstone. We need more men."

"So you want my bannermen?" It was so obvious that even Robin caught on. "I can't spare them."

Jon's eyes narrowed. "And why not?"

"We've bled enough for you and your wife. My mother insisted on peace during the War of the Five Kings and to tell the truth, I think she was right."

"My Lord," cautioned Lord Royce…

The King interrupted, gaze fiery. "People will die without these troops, innocent men and women, children even! And you want to play at peace? The Eyre has been mostly untouched by the wars, but that will not remain the same – while I am willing to forget that your house sided against my family during the Rebellion, perhaps she may not."

"Is that a threat?" Robin asked angrily.

"No, it's a promise," Jon coolly replied back. "If you refuse to heed the call of your acknowledged sovereign and plunge the realm into chaos, I will ensure your demise and the loss of power to your entire house." A raised hand kept Robin from talking. "Think carefully of your next words Lord Robin."

Clenching his teeth, Robin fought his urge to shriek " _LET THE BAD MAN FLY!"_ and kick the King out of the Moon Door, but at that moment Rhaegal roared again – a booming cry that made him flinch. "I think we should accede, my Lord," Royce said. "We are bound by honor."

"I'll gladly lead our forces to victory, cousin," Hardyng boasted, looking far too eager for war – Jon remembered he hadn't fought in either the Long Night or the campaign against Cersei.

Robin was silent for a while, but suddenly grinned wildly. "Very well, your Grace. I will give you my troops, on one condition. I get to ride your dragon."

Jon did not like this, he liked it less than he liked Cersei, which was saying a lot. Rhaegal would like it even less… At the risk of his dragon eating the Lord of the Eyre, he agreed. "When the war is done, you will get your wish on my word of honor." With Royce and Hardyng influencing him, that was enough for Robin.

Mid-flight home, Jon thought not of Robin Arryn – the boy was an insect in the scheme of things, not worth his time. No, he thought of Rhaenys, mind swirling in many completely different directions. He was angry, livid that he'd been deprived of time with his birth sister and even angrier at the abuse she'd been forced to suffer through.

 _No wonder she hates us._ If he hadn't known their stories he'd hate them too… He thought about her long and hard during his flight home, praying to whatever deity was listening that this wouldn't be the end. That it wouldn't come to killing in cold blood the only other dragon living. As if by instinct, he added one more plea. _"Father… I am your loyal son… please do not cause me to kill my sister,"_

Only the wind answered him.

Finally, the large spires of Harrenhal loomed close – where the procession would spend the night before making the final push to the capitol. As he guided Rhaegal in for a landing, the dusken sun just began to disappear under the horizon. While the keep was filled with activity, his exhaustion dragged Jon to the guest chambers, where he noticed the sleeping form of his wife and their daughter. She snored softly, her arm wrapped tight around Aeryssa and her other hand inches from a sword handle.

He smiled, and noted that he should not wake her for fear she'd run the sword across his throat. She looked beautiful there, wrapped protectively around their baby girl. He felt so proud to be her husband, her King and her lover.

"My King, a ravenscroll came in the night while you were gone," Davos said from outside their door, seemingly sheepish. "I hadn't the heart nor the spine to wake her. Maybe you'll look at it?"

Nodding, he let himself out the door and took the scroll from Davos, who offered him a supportive smile when he saw who it was from. Ripping it open, he read it greedily and hungrily, hope dying from his eyes as he read the words.

"Not good?"

"It's from Rhaenys… She requests a parlay to speak to the 'Usurpers' King Aegon and Queen Daenerys Targaryen."

"That isn't the end of it." Both turned to see Daenerys slowly rise from the bed. Jon rushed to her and they shared a quick kiss, but her lips were curled into a frown. "The Dornish declared for her."

* * *

_Translations_

"Dragonfire?" - " _Dracarys?"_

"Good Girl! Shall we try to fly next?" - " _Sȳz riña! Kessa īlon sylugon naejot sōvegon hembar?"_

"Fly!" - _"Sōvegon!"_

"I know little love, I don't trust him." - _"Nyke gīmigon byka jorrāelagon, nyke ȳdra daor pāsagon zirȳla."_


	13. Chapter Twelve: Game of Dragons

With a kiss to her head, Jon gently lowered Aeryssa into the crib of her nursery. “There we are, sweetling. Back home where you belong.” The little Targaryen princess yawned, stretching her arms before snuggling into her blanket and pillow. “The dragon back in its nest.”

Dany nodded, leaning against Jon’s side. “Too many lions and stags sullied this place. Dragons built it… and dragons deserve to live in it.” Still haunted by the scars of what was being referred to as “Cersei’s War” by the Citadel – likely a move on their part to appease their new monarchs – the reconstruction of the Red Keep was continuing at a breakneck pace… at least until… “But this time it is a dragon that threatens it.”

As he looked at his sleeping daughter, Jon conjured the image of his sister running away from the forces of Tywin Lannister, away from certain death that awaited anyone with the name Targaryen – that awaited him if his uncle hadn’t cloaked him in bastardy. “This is the worst sort of war,” he muttered, clenching his fist. “Blood against blood. Kin against kin.”

“There’s a reason the Andals and Northmen alike condemned Kinslaying as the worst of all crimes,” Dany replied softly. “But the sad truth is, such is a skill our family knows too much.”

Oft the greatest of all tales he had grown up with involved Targaryens fighting Targaryens. Jon didn’t know it at the time, but ultimately he would be thrust into this. “My father wouldn’t have wanted this.” He walked to the window, fingers clenching against the stone lip. “I cannot be sure of what he felt in regards to Rhaenys’ mother, but he loved all of us. Her, my late brother, and myself. We could have all been a family…” Jon closed his eyes tightly, willing away the pain.

Daenerys wanted to envelop him in the warmest of hugs. “At least Ser Willam Darry could tell me about how much my mother loved me before she died. You knew not about your father.”

“Rhaenys could tell me. She was about three namedays when it all went to hells?” He laughed grimly. “Who knows what lies she’s been poisoned with?”

“You’re not optimistic she could see through the whispers?”

“Are you?”

Quiet for a moment, Dany shook her head. “No.” It pained her to say, but she wasn’t banking on it. “It took you and only you to truly purge the vile thoughts Viserys poisoned my mind with… and I was more inclined to trust you than Rhaenys would be.”

Wordlessly, Jon drew her in his arms. “I can’t kill her… Dany. She’s my sister.” She merely held him, not strong enough to break his heart by reminding him he may need to.

A gentle knock on the door broke them apart, though Jon continued to hold her hand. “Enter.” It was Arya. “Yes?”

The Lady Commander’s lips were in a hard frown. “A Daario Naharis has arrived in the city and requests an audience.”

Jon’s frown mirrored Arya’s. “So he’s arrived, then?” Avoiding the Triarchy blockade of Blackwater Bay by anchoring at Storm’s End, they expected him to arrive soon but not so soon.

“Aye, with a large column of men. Shall I handle him?” Arya knew their… or rather Dany’s history with him and was less keen on letting Daario anywhere near the royal couple than the King himself. She certainly wouldn’t have minded had Gendry’s former lovers died in the firestorms during Cersei’s War.

Dany sighed. “No, we’ll give him his audience.” While Arya grunted, she bowed and led the way for the couple. Daenerys made sure to hold Jon’s hand tightly. “You know I’m yours, right Jon?” she murmured in his ear.

“Doesn’t mean I like seeing those… who had you before.”

“He is my sworn sword, no more.”

“To you… as someone who’s had you, Dany, I doubt this Daario would willingly part from you.”

A compliment – Dany leaned up to kiss his cheek. “He did tell me he loved me, asked me to stay in Meereen. But I didn’t take his advice, and found love only with you.” That managed to put a smile on her husband’s face. “If he tries anything, I’ll take care of it, but we don’t want to cast aside a smart tactician over petty jealousy.”

Jon shrugged. “As long as he knows I command a dragon, then it’s fine.” He grinned again when Dany giggled.

The private audience room was usually used for meeting with smaller delegations or friends of the royals, but as the great hall was still under construction it would have to do. While Daenerys hoped Daario had found some woman or women to tickle his fancy, one look at his beaming smile put such hopes to dragonfire. “Your Grace,” he bowed, eyes sparkling with… quite a lot of familiarity.

Daenerys suppressed a groan. “Commander Naharis. You may rise.” He did, giving her an inconspicuous roving look that she happened to notice. And from how he stiffened, so did Jon. “May I introduce you to my husband.”

Finally, Daario regarded Jon. Looking him over in a far different way. “Jon Snow of Winterfell. I’ve heard… much about you.”

“Likewise,” Jon ground out.

But Daenerys narrowed her eyes. “That is not his name to you, Daario. He is Aegon Targaryen, and is your King. You will refer to him as such.”

Frowning, Daario nevertheless nodded. “Forgive me, your Grace.” He didn’t seem happy to regard Jon as such, but at least he accepted it. He turned to Daenerys, whom he was much more inclined to address. “My Queen, I have answered your summons and have brought the Second Sons. They shall accomplish what your… local levies have found impossible.” That was directed at Jon.

Before Dany could respond, Jon cut in – not wishing to get into an open cock-measuring contest with this sellsword. “I trust you haven’t allowed the security of the Bay of Dragons to collapse by coming here, Commander Naharis?” Dany looked up at him, quite impressed.

Her loving look was not lost on Daario, who frowned again. “Not at all, your Grace. In the Queen’s absence I took the initiative to raise a large force of freedmen into a local army to keep the peace. Nine thousand of them I have brought with me alongside the Second Sons.”

That was welcome news. “I commend you for your initiative, Commander Naharis. Be sure to speak with Lord Seaworth to integrate them into the royal army. You are dismissed.”

“My Queen.” Daario bowed and was escorted out by Arya.

“He wants you,” Jon commented as soon as they were alone.

“He does, but only you can have me.”

“That goes without saying… but he’s loyal. I can tell.”

Dany grimaced. “We’re going to need all the loyalty we can.”

Much of history had been decided at the ancient keep of Rook’s Rest. A significant battle against the Ironborn of Black Harren had graced the hills and bluffs overlooking the castle, while the clash of dragons during the Dance led to the death of Princess Rhaenys and the maiming of Aegon II. And now, once again Lord Staunton consented for his keep to enter the annals of history during the aptly-named Second Dance of Dragons – though he locked himself in his sept to pray for his life. The last Lord Staunton to consent to the dragons battling over his lands didn’t fare as well.

The first to arrive was the delegation of their Graces, Aegon VI Targaryen and Daenerys I Targaryen. In addition to the Hand, among the Small Council Lady Commander Arya Stark, Lord Gendry Baratheon, and Master of Ships Yara Greyjoy comprised it, as well as the curious sight of Tyrion Lannister. Centered by the full force of the Unsullied corps – black-coated bodies perfectly shock still to intimidate any enemy – Hand of the King and Queen Ser Davos Seaworth knew appearances. As such, the Second Sons and Essosi levies remained in King’s Landing, though Grand Captain Daario Naharis insisted on coming.

“This was a bad idea,” piped Davos’ shadow – though the ever-present Grey Worm and his short sword was a shadow of his own.

The Hand frowned. “I don’t believe you’re in a position to lecture me, Tyrion.” Stripped of the titles obtained from his nobility, Tyrion Lannister wore a simple merchant’s doublet and trousers – not filthy yet not fancy at the same time. “You’re lucky I didn’t put you in chains.”

Tyrion held up his hands in surrender. “Forgiveness, Ser Davos. All I did was furnish my opinion.”

“Your opinion was that his Grace should kill her Grace, his beloved and mother of his child. Forgive me if I find that hard to forget.”

Many moons locked under confinement in one of the servant chambers in the Red Keep, Tyrion had much time to reflect on his tenure within the hierarchy of the realm. Of the erroneous blunders and that in which he would never regret doing. And for once, he did it sober. “Anyone can make a mistake, Davos. I can admit now that the advice was… in error.” At a grunt, there was a silence as they watched the skiffs off the Lysene flagged carracks anchored offshore hit the beach. “But it was also a mistake to bring Daario here. A negotiator he is not.”

Much as Davos would have rather executed the dwarf and be done with it, his curiosity was piqued. “Why is that?”

“He believes the sword is mightier than the quill… and the dagger across the throat in sleep is mightier than the sword. Also…” he winced. “The last negotiation he made isn’t one to please his Grace.”

“Dare I ask again, why?”

Tyrion sighed. “Dear Daario negotiated his way into her Grace’s services by holding a knife to Missandei’s throat while Daenerys was bathing in the nude.”

Davos pursed his lips. _Which is worse to Jon, threatening Missandei or spying on his love in the nude?_ “For once, you’re right.”

“One can only hope he’s smartened up.” _Fat chance of that._ But as they spotted the dignitaries of the opposition – the Blackfyre cause, most likely – Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “Or the Blackfyres draw all of their ire so that none is left for Daario.” He pointed. “Illyrio shows himself, as does the man in the orange robes.”

“Quentyn Martell?”

“If he’s anything like his family’s reputation, we aren’t to see any minced words.”

“Oh joy.”

Six Volentine Black Guardsmen led the procession, dressed in the scaled armor of Valyrian warriors and carrying halberds as the Unsullied carried their spears. Behind were two bannermen carrying the red dragon of House Targaryen surrounded by an orange border – signifying House Martell. _Going all out I suspect._ Illyrio Mopatis’ portly frame was instantly recognizable, as was the bearded youth Quentyn Martell, the spitting image of his father but with triple the haughtiness. Several others in the custom armor of sellswords or the flowing robes of Triarchy or Volentine slavemasters trailed behind, as did… “Jon Connington?”

“Who?” Davos didn’t know the name.

“Rhaegar Targaryen’s closest friend and former Hand of the King.” Oh, this wasn’t good. “If he’s behind the usurper, they might consider it a signal that she’s legitimate.”

“Well… we can judge that ourselves because I think that’s… seven bloody hells…”

Tyrion’s eyes widened as well. _This is not good._

The woman claiming to be Rhaenys Targaryen was a vision. Jet black hair free, wavy curls spilling around her shoulders in the Dornish style, she wore a dress of the finest silk. Black skirts transitioned into a bright, vibrant red around her collar as if one of the fourteen flames, skillfully accentuating the olive skin and larger than the average nose of her famous mother. Both eyes shone a bright violet, completing the mix of Valyrian and Dornish.

But such wasn’t what drew the alarm from the gathered delegates of the King and Queen. Resting on her shoulder – tail curled around her neck – was the crimson dragon born on Dragonstone. Far from against her, she was clearly tamed by the supposed Princess.

Painting her as one with no claim would be far harder.

The platform was assembled as the parlay in the Dragonpit had, dueling Targaryen banners watching each other across twenty feet of separation. Rhaenys took her seat in the center of the opposing side, gently petting her dragon’s snout as the others sat around her. “Where are the usurpers?” she asked curiously.

“They’ll be here momentarily,” Daario began, cutting Davos off. “That dragon belongs to them, bastard.”

Heat radiated off the feisty hatchling as she bared her teeth at Daario, while Rhaenys laughed. “Bloodwyng is mine, but feel free to try and take her from me if you wish.” A puff of flame hissed out of the dragon’s maw. “Won’t end well, but you may try.” Daario simply folded his arms, not moving from his seat.

It was Tyrion that spoke next. “Varys told me he had contingency plans, but I never expected one as lovely as this.” He looked at Illyrio. “Tell me, was he always planning to place her on the Iron Throne or did he merely wish for a suitable bride for our King once he deposed the Queen.”

Illyrio didn’t answer – Rhaenys did it for him. “As if I would stoop so low to marry a false dragon that besmirches the name of my father.”

“That is welcome,” Davos replied. “He and her Grace are very much in love.”

Suddenly, two roars boomed overhead, causing all but Princess Rhaenys to flinch as the bat-like shapes shot past – dark shadows blotting out the sun. The twin forms of the massive Drogon and the sleeker yet almost as massive Rhaegal banked around, quickly making their way to the ground… landing with a thud. Atop were two figures dressed darkly, crowns atop their heads.

Rhaenys stiffened. The Usurpers. _My brother and aunt._

Somewhere deep within, she prayed that they actually were her long-lost family. The last connection she had to her late father.

Rhaegal and Drogon extended their necks upward to let out an immense bellow, which was followed by Bloodwyng screeching as loudly as she could. It caused the King and Queen to still as they slowly lowered themselves to the ground. It was effortless, neither of them fazed in the slightest, but the hatchling’s screech worried them. What were they up against?

Masks then covered their faces once on the ground, they stroked the snouts of their dragons, whispering words of endearment. Rhaegal and Drogon bobbed their heads, purring softly. They would stick behind, out of reach but certainly not out of sight. Nodding to his wife and kissing her lips chastely, Jon reached out for Daenerys’ hand as they walked to the platform.

Each was clad similarly. Jon wore his dark grey cloak over the black leather cuirass bearing the Targaryen three-headed dragon. He trimmed his beard, wearing his hair loose as a Targaryen warrior of old. Daenerys was far more elaborate but equally fierce. Hair braided in the Dothraki style, her black leather battle dress, black gloves, and silver chain along her torso left no one doubting the identity of the Mother of Dragons. Crowns atop their heads, they walked towards and onto the dais together before seating themselves right next to the other.

Their eyes fell upon Rhaenys, and hers upon theirs. Both grey and violet eyes widened at Bloodwyng perched on Rhaenys’ shoulder as if she belonged there – a dragon finding its bonded human and future rider. A sort of electric shock passed through them for a moment before vanishing, a foreboding familiarity creeping about them. Were they all truly who they said they were? Rhaenys’ heart started to beat out of her chest, while an indescribable sadness filled both Jon and Daenerys.

“You’re late,” scoffed Quentyn Martell, indifferent to the mood of his cousin.

It brought Daenerys back to the real world. “Our apologies. My dragons had to feed.” She regarded the mere representative of House Martell as one would an insect, and even without being backed up by dragons the stare was withering.

Daenerys finally turned to look at Rhaenys, eyeing her up and down. She held the Valyrian otherworldly beauty in spite of the obvious Dornish features, much as Jon did in conjunction with the northern looks. Instinctively, she found herself wanting to brush her stray strands of hair away from Rhaenys’ perfect face, but the hard look given right back told her she’d be wise not to try it. She was given Aeryssa by Ser Davos Seaworth after sitting on her throne, and her heart softened a little. Jon and the babe was her lifeline and she would never allow herself to be far from either of them.

Rhaenys stiffened at the sight of the babe, eyes narrowing. She’d been told the Targaryen couple was barren, that the Queen was unable to conceive. Had Illyrio lied to her yet again? Smarting from this new development, she absentmindedly reached up to touch Bloodwyng, marveling at the calm she felt when she touched those heated scales.

“Welcome, Rhaenys of House Targaryen, and their Graces Jon and Daenerys Targaryen, to this parlay,” Davos said loudly, drawing the attention of everyone around them. “We come today to lay terms of peace, for we do not need another war so soon after the war against the Mad Queen Cersei Lannister… Princess Rhaenys, as the caller of the parlay, your demands may be spoken first.”

Davos stepped back, allowing Rhaenys to step forward, her voice clear and high-toned.

“I am Rhaenys of House Targaryen, child of Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Elia Martell. As the true Queen of Westeros and Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, I demand you step down. I will claim the throne that is rightfully mine, and you both will either bend the knee or leave Westeros. Choose wisely.”

Daenerys felt her fingers curl ruthlessly into her armrests, nails digging brutally into the carved wooden chair, and inwardly snarled at Rhaenys. How dare she demand such things? She, who has never seen war? She, who has never had a piece of her soul ripped from her by those she should have been able to trust. And now she thinks that she could ever handle the responsibilities of royalty? _Such a pretty fool. To think she could win this war so easily._ A tiny hand wrapped around her finger, and suddenly her eyes emptied of their violet hue, reminding her that Rhaenys had suffered much and was likely misguided.

“That will not happen,” she finally said, calm and collected.

Jon Connington, ramrod straight in his chair, scoffed. “It would be wise if you did, and we are prepared to be lenient to the true Queen’s blood. Bend the knee and you will receive Dragonstone, as well as the Slaver’s Bay territories that you hold.”

Yara Greyjoy scoffed. “You must be japing?”

Daario shook his head. “Nah, only someone smarter than an ant can jape,” he said arrogantly.

Quentyn was equally as arrogant, face going red. “Who are you, lowborn sellsword bastard!”

“If I could, you’d have your throat slit before I finish yawning, but I was told to be respectful,” Daario shrugged, stifling a chuckle at how the bratty highborn seemed to sputter.

“Enough,” Connington said quietly. “Face facts, you can’t even prevent uprisings among the supposed bannermen of the _King in the North._ ” 

Leaning forward, Jon’s gaze held the steadiness of a hunting wolf. “Tell me, Prince Quentyn. Have you fought with your men? Bled with them against enemies even nightmares couldn’t conjure?” It was clear that none did, even if Rhaenys had lived a nightmare herself – out of all of them, she seemed to understand. “You should know we would never step down, our people love and trust us to govern them. we would never betray them for even one such as you… sister.” Jon spoke quietly, but with an underlying threat of violence.

Quentyn wasn’t fazed. “You fight the largest navy in the world, the freshest of troops, with a battered army barely six tenths of our size.”

“Fighting against two grown dragons and a horde of Dothraki screamers, Unsullied, and Westerosi men is not a wise decision,” Jon shot back. “I would recommend you reconsider as hastily as possible.” His words made Daenerys shiver, but not with fear. She felt her body tense and tighten, knowing that he was so defensive of her and their child making her quiver in anticipation for the ruthless lovemaking that would surely follow this meeting tonight.

In the eyes of the Queen-claimant, she saw her half-brother’s earnestness. His… ferocity with fire and blood. Gods, if only had he been on her side – she longed for it, but he had made his choice. “Having dragons give you no legitimacy, brother. As you know, I have a dragon right here.” Stroking Bloodwyng’s neck, a thought came to her. “Aunt, you came to Westeros with three dragons, yet only have two. I wouldn’t see such a gamble as worth it when we could work far stronger together… under your rightful Queen.”

Daenerys stood, handing the babe off to Jon who held her protectively, never once taking his eyes off the enemy before them. She took two steps forward, eyeing the men behind Rhaenys who immediately went for their weapons, despite the snarling warnings the dragons exhibited the moment their fingers touched the hilt of their blades. Drogon leaned forward, teeth bared and growling, fully intent on coming toward them to protect his _Muna_ and _Kepa._

“ _Rest ñuha riñar, aōha muña iksis daor mittys.”_

Drogon backed off immediately, though he and Rhaegal still snarled menacingly. Rhaenys could not take her eyes off them, silently wondering if her Bloodwyng would get that big, or perhaps bigger. But when Daenerys spoke, she turned to look at the blue-violet orbs of her supposed aunt.

Rhaenys observed her with a hint of puzzlement. _“Ao ȳdragon Valyrīha?”_

_“Hen rhinka, Valyrio muño ēngos ñuhys issa.”_

Startled, she whipped around to glare at Illyrio, who suddenly remembered he had not told her this information. _So, she speaks Dothraki, Valyrian, and Westerosi. I cannot communicate with my troops here without her knowing what I am saying… Curse you Illyrio, how dare you forget this!_ She snarled inwardly, letting her fury shine through her eyes.

“I see you did not know this, what else has the Magister not told you I wonder?” Daenerys took another step forward, carefully eyeing the men around her niece. “Did he tell you he housed my brother and me in his home in Pentos, while you were locked away in the East wing, we were locked away in the West wing of his manor. Did he tell you that?”

For the briefest of moments, there seemed to be an epiphany between the two of them. Two Targaryen princesses, forced to endure the worst of defilements and tortures heaped upon them by the worst sorts of manipulators and sadists – a mutual understanding and empathy, alongside a hope that such could bridge the divide created for them.

_Aunt…_

_Niece…_

But as quickly as it was there it was gone, replaced by a mask of cool annoyance. So what if he hadn’t told her, did it matter? She was the One True Queen, so Illyrio had told her time and time again. Daenerys and her husband were Usurpers. And should be treated as such. Illyrio stepped forward to her, whispering in her ear. “They seek to drive a wedge between us your grace, do not let them do so.”

He sounded afraid, she decided, and silently committed Daenerys’s words to memory. She would deal with him later. “What of it? That does not change your status as usurpers. You wrongfully assumed the throne that was mine by right as the eldest child of Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Having sensed the earlier moment, Jon stepped up. “Please, sister.” His uncle had gone to the chopping block protecting Jon, his blood – how could Jon face the man who raised him if he didn’t try his damndest to avoid such civil war?

“Forget it, your Grace,” Daario said, bored. “This is pointless.”

“Quiet,” Dany hissed, shutting him up. In spite of it all, this particularly she hoped for a peaceful solution towards.

“Would our father truly wish us to battle each other? We are the last of our House, connected in ways few could understand.” _Please, Rhaenys… I almost lost two sisters and did lose three brothers. I can’t lose another…_

His pleading nearly broke her resolve, so desirous she was of such familial ties… but any form of sentimentality was weakness. Maegrin and his kind had shown her long before what happened to those who were weak. “I cannot be sure that you aren’t what everyone has said you are, Jon Snow.” While fire raged in Daenerys’ eyes, Jon’s seemed to recoil as if stricken. Rhaenys felt his pain, but quickly covered up the agony. “You have no claim in my opinion, and my claim is stronger than my aunt’s. Therefore, I demand you step down immediately and give the Iron Throne back.”

Arya spoke up, malice in her tone. “You may demand all you like. My _cousin_ and his wife fought for that throne, spilled blood on both sides for that damned throne, and you have the gall to demand it because you are not dead?”

Rhaenys looked at her, taking in the chainmail and the scale mail armor, and chuckled.

“What would the Commander of the Usurpers Kingsguard know about it? All you do is lick their boots and come as a good little dog should. Remember your place and stay silent.”

Jon bolted up, rage making his grey eyes burn with violet streaks, and glared venomously at her. “Speak to her that way again, and your kinship with me will no longer matter, you will die where you stand.”

“Will I?” Rhaenys stepped forward, standing directly in front of Daenerys, and whipped out a dagger faster than Arya could draw Catspaw. Pressing the tip into her belly, she smiled sweetly at her aunt, who’s gaze hardened. _“There is no saving her. Not now at least.”_

Daenerys, uncaring of the blade pressing into her belly, spoke softly.

“You can have the sound of a thousand voices calling your name, full of love and praise, or you can have the world bathe you in their light and grace, but remember it comes fleetingly. One false move, one wrong decision, and you will find that castles can fall as easily as they’ve been erected. Kingdoms can be destroyed until all that remains is the ruins of what once was, and what could have been.”

Rhaenys stilled, her dagger drooping as the weight of her words hit her. She wasn’t wrong, she had neither the love of the Westerosi people, nor the backing of two strong dragons and a husband to share her fears with. She put her blade away, feeling as though her hand moved of its own accord, and looked at Daenerys. For the first time, her eyes were more brown than violet, and Daenerys wondered if she was getting through to her. Her heart softened, and she reached out to touch her cheek.

“We don’t have to do this Rhaenys…”

Like the flip of a switch, her eyes flooded with their signature violet hue, and she struck Daenerys’s hand away, rage filling her at how easily she was almost played.

“You have two days to remove yourselves from my Keep and my throne, if you don’t, I will have war.”

Turning on her heel, she walked back into the safety of her troops, careful to hide the building tears in her eyes. They didn’t love her and they didn’t want her, but she didn’t want them to, did she? Illyrio was by her side immediately, murmuring soft words of comfort before he launched into battle plans. She heard none of it, her mind reeling with anger and betrayal.

 _“I hope they don’t vacate the throne, I hope I get to sever their heads from their bodies, and I hope I get to see their world burn before they die.”_ She thought ruthlessly, her heart beating in a broken rhythm.

Later that night, brushing her hair in the mirror of the King’s Chambers at Dragonstone, she spared a few tears and let herself feel the despair of not having a single friend in the world. She would give anything to have someone to talk to, to unburden herself to, for Bloodwyng could only do so much. She heard a knock, and as quickly as she could she wiped her eyes and steeled herself.

“Enter.”

Illyrio entered, followed by a young woman dressed in a deep red sheer gown with black filigree designs embroidered into it stepped in behind him. She bore thickly curled black hair, olive skin, and a slender frame. Around the neck was a thick slave collar, and suddenly Rhaenys understood why she was here.

“Tell me she’s not meant as a slave for me. Tell me you didn’t _purchase her_ to be my servant.”

Illyrio blinked as if suddenly coming to the conclusion that she may not like slavery. And when he realized this was the case, he quickly backtracked.

“No of course not, I was just about to free her. I hate slavery just as much as you do.”

Rhaenys glared as Bloodwyng shrieked angrily, fully aware that he was lying to her. But her eyes landed on the woman, who was quaking in fear. Knowing she may be given to less favorable people should she reject her, she sighed and nodded. “So why is she here?”

Relaxing, Illyrio gestured for the girl to stand to the side. “As vile as she is for denying you your rightful throne, the usurper Queen made aware to me a glaring oversight in your training and studies in regards to the customs of Westeros. Therefore, Prince Quentyn was kind enough to provide me a servant once belonging to her mother knowledgeable in the customs of your future domain. Daenerys herself had such a servant while ruling Slaver’s Bay, though she perished in the war against the Lannisters.”

Nodding, Rhaenys admitted he held sense, as did her aunt. It was smart. Looking over the girl, she was obviously scared and demure… a kindred spirits of sorts. “Free her. She shall be my maidservant, where I can keep a watchful eye on her. Does she at least speak the Common Tongue?”

“Oh yes, that and more, she is fluent in many languages.”

“Good, you have my leave to go… and tell Connington to land the army at Massey’s Hook on the morrow.” Bowing, Illyrio made his exit. Rhaenys turned to the girl. “Your name, dear?” she asked with a gentle tone.

“Nilvaine, your Grace.”

“A beautiful name.” She beckoned her further. When she was close enough she removed her collar, tossing the weighted object from her grasp as though the metal was searing her skin.

“Nilvaine, where are you from?”

“Astapor, your Grace, though I remember it not. I was born into servitude, sold to Volantis until Princess Mellario acquired me.”

“And when was that?”

“When I was but six name days. I was in her service ever since.” From how her voice dropped, it was clear as day that Mellario Martell wasn’t kind to her slave.

“I see… Given your birthplace, I will make you this promise: You will never be beaten, you will never be whipped or raped while you are in my care. As long as you serve me faithfully and honestly.” Rhaenys stood, taking the woman’s hand into her own. “Give me your opinion when I don’t want it, give me your truth when I would wish for lies, and be there for me when I would wish for solitude.”

The woman before her began to cry, weeping tears of relief and hugged her. Startled, Rhaenys at first rejected the hug, but slowly began to accept it. She slowly hugged her back, melting into the touch of another human being. And as she did, yet another piece of her sanity came back to her, and the violet dimmed evermore.

Tyrion glared at the decanter of ruby-red Dornish wine on the table of the small council, his memory replaying every glass Daenerys had drunk, wondering how many Varys had laced with Basilisk Blood. As he did this, the other members of the small council arrived, Yara Greyjoy among the first. Newly-made Master of Ships, she radiated poised smugness at her position. Taking the chair to the left of the two thrones, she poured herself a glass of the damned liquid and took a long sip. She looked at Tyrion in surprise, as if suddenly aware of his presence.

“What are you doing here Tyrion? This is a small council meeting, and you are not of the small council. Are you?”

He sighed, leaning back into the right-sided chair he resided in. “I was summoned by their graces to attend this meeting.”

“Cockroaches would have nothing on you, dwarf,” Daario laughed. “Survives even treason.”

“Misinformation can cause many problems, Naharis.”

Daario shrugged. “Don’t get misinformed, then, lest you’d have me to worry about.”

Nodding, Yara took another sip. Savoring the fruity flavor that sang on her tastebuds, she allowed herself the thought of Theon, who she missed dearly. When all were seated, the door opened to show Daenerys and Jon, wearing the Targaryen colors.

“Good evening, welcome to the first small council meeting of our age to discuss the open war,” Daenerys said as she sat on the left throne beside Yara, while Jon took the right throne beside Tyrion. “Today we discuss strategy, and amend bonds.”

Jon cleared his throat. “Given war still exists, the peacetime transition of forces is at an end.” He adjusted his seat. “I’ll be taking personal command of the royal army, while Daario Naharis will be my second-in-command.”

Blinking, the one most surprised of it was Daario himself. “Your Grace?” Of all the people King Aegon would be comfortable with… his wife’s former lover?

Sharing a look with Daenerys, both their eyes sparkling, Jon neglected to mention such was the reason he chose Daario. _Can’t make schemes in regards to Dany if you’re in my council._ “You speak Valyrian and Dothraki as well as the Common Tongue. Given I cannot speak the first well or the second at all, you are needed along with your experience.”

He couldn’t find fault with the logic. “Of course, your Grace. I live to serve.”

Rather enjoying Jon and his jealousy, Dany toyed with a goblet of wine… leading her mind to other thoughts. She looked at Tyrion, who was still glaring heavily at the decanter, willing himself to refrain from taking a single sip.

“Tyrion Lannister,” Her voice pulled him from his internal war, and he found her smiling at him, the way she had when he was still in her good graces.

“I would rename you, Master of Coin, under the condition that you refrain from drinking while you are in my service.” 

Shocked, he found himself at a loss for words. This was generous, even for her, given his deep betrayal to the Dragon Queen. Babbling his thanks, he looked to Jon, who nodded solemnly. It seemed they were of the same mindset.

“I-I can’t believe it… You truly mean to do this?”

“We do. You were invaluable as Master of Coin, and we need allies we can trust. Would you retake your position, and abide by the rule given to you?”

He nodded desperately, anything to be forgiven for a crime he unknowingly committed.

“I would also remind you, that should you break this rule at any given time, you will be in violation of your condition and you will be executed for your crimes.”

Tyrion gulped, remembering the faces of those she’d burned for far less. “This is an outcome we are desperately trying to refrain from occurring.” Jon added with a bit of understanding in his tone. “We do not wish to see the destruction of an entire House, so please, under our direct supervision, we beg you not to break your vow.” 

The Imp sighed, looking longingly at the decanter of wine on the table. This was a hard choice, he could have one final drink, indulging in his beloved habit, or he could keep his head.

Decisions… Decisions.

“Rest my children, your mother is no fool.” - “Rest ñuha riñar, aōha muña iksis daor mittys.”

“You speak Valyrian?” - “Ao ȳdragon Valyrīha?”

“Of course, Valyrian is my mother tongue.” - “Hen rhinka, Valyrio muño ēngos ñuhys issa.”


	14. Chapter 14: Broken Bridges and Shattered Dreams

**_Hello my lovelies, glad to see you back at this lovely new year! Hope everything clears up and the Virus ends! Fingers crossed ladies and gents, I thoroughly plan to attend college in the summer on campus instead of online... I miss people. I hate people normally, but good god in heaven I miss my friends and my teachers... But without further adieu, here's Chapter Thirteen of ATD!_ **

**_As Always: George R.R. Martin owns everything except the plot._ **

**_Much Love,_ **

**_BlackRose999_ **

* * *

She had once thought the assault on Dragonstone had involved the grand movement of troops. How naïve Rhaenys had been, and she only realized it upon the landing at Massey's Hook. "Magnificent, aren't they?" Jon Connington asked her, hands clasped behind his back as the cold sea breeze bracketed them from the battlements of Stonedance castle.

She nodded absentmindedly. "Aye." Rhaenys watched the columns of men disembark from the dozens of skiffs racing to and fro from the large cargo hulks waiting offshore. Every sort of soldier, from Braavosi sellswords to the black-clad Volentine Black Guardsmen and Jassinary Corps. Slave soldiers, she regarded with disgust, but nothing she could do about it at the moment. _First, win, then put to rights._ A loud trumpet took her from her musings. "Elephants?" Rhaenys had never seen the creatures but saw murals in Illyrio's manse.

Connington smirked proudly. "The Golden Company wanted to bring them for Cersei Lannister." He spat the last. House Lannister could rot in his opinion. "They didn't fit onto Euron Greyjoy's ships, so they left them in Braavos. Easy pickings for us."

"How many?"

"Fifty-five, your Grace."

She nodded. "Good. Not even the best-armored knights could stand against them." The large grey beasts were being led off large barges, and they didn't seem in the best of moods considering their noise and how they swatted trunks at the handlers.

Perhaps they were less the war-winning asset that she thought.

Greying red hair slicked back into a bun just above the lip of his armor, the Lord-in-exile of Griffin's Roost cleared his throat. "There will be further soldiers to your cause, your Grace. In addition to Lord Massey, Lord Bar Emmon and Lord Buckler have sworn allegiance and committed their bannermen to your cause. Combined with the Masseys, that's one thousand men."

"And how loyal would they be? Did they fight for the usurpers? The Mad Queen Cersei Lannister? Did they fight for or against my father?" she ended up snapping.

Connington flinched – thinking of the days of Rhaegar brought sadness to his heart, failing him as he refused to contemplate doing for Rhaenys. "They will fight for you, I can assure it. Lord Buckler was a friend of mine and the others are loyal to the one true Targaryen."

She withdrew her gaze back to the offloading troops, hair blown in tangles from the wind. Rhaenys normally wouldn't have snapped so easily, but truth be told she hadn't slept well in days.

And the reasons were obvious to her. Rhaenys never had such nightmarish dreams.

She dreamed of a white-haired man beating her, screaming about how she'd "Woken the Dragon", and touching her when he thought no-one else was looking. She dreamed of a dark-haired man with thick muscles and a long braid, taking her and raping her again and again. She dreamed of a dark-haired child, taken from her before he drew his first breath. These dreams plagued her, night after night, and when she began to anticipate them, the voices started.

" _You've been lied to princess…"_

This voice was the only one she was sure of, for she somehow remembered it. Pacing her room, she ignored Bloodwyng's reassuring chirps, lack of sleep not allowing her to think straight. She tore a hand through her hair, pushing it away from her face. Stumbling, she knocked over a set of books, the noise drawing attention to her by her guards.

" _GET OUT!"_ She screamed ruthlessly as she gripped her hair, the lack of sleep making her volatile and cruel. Whimpering, she curled up into a ball on the floor, tears streaming down her face. _"Get out… Please!"_ No aid came to her aside from Nilvaine, who quietly helped her stand and led her back to her bed. She smiled at her softly, her face puffy with tears, and grabbed her hand.

"Don't leave me… Please."

"Of course."

Nilvaine got a chair to sit beside her and regarded her with a calm sense of knowing. She rubbed the softness of her skin with her thumb, trying to calm the frayed nerves and the unstable mind within.

"If you don't mind my asking, what's got you so tense? You look like a coil of wire about to break, if you keep taking it all in you'll snap. And not in a good way."

Rhaenys sighed softly, tears still running down her cheeks. She told her about the nightmares, the voices too, and silently begged the gods above that she wouldn't call her crazy.

"Have you ever heard of Wargs, Princess? People who can creep into minds and memories like spiders in little cracks on the wall?"

This caused her to still, her mind traveling back to Illyrio's lessons, and her brain reminded her that while they were rare, they weren't unheard of. Nilvaine ran her fingers through her thick hair, unsure of how to continue.

"A warg… Is, can be, dangerous. If used correctly, they can be wonderful assets, when turned on the enemy, however, they can drive you to insanity."

"You think I'm being visited by a warg?"

Shaking her head, she looked at her with dark eyes. "I think they're trying to communicate with you through your dreams. Next time it happens, let it play out, maybe you'll learn whatever they're trying to tell you."

Nodding to herself, she allowed Nilvaine to leave and curled up back under her furs. Silently falling back into a somber slumber.

_She was beneath a weirwood tree, silently looking at the cherry-red leaves on the stark white branches. She touched the bark, feeling the rough trunk rub against her smooth skin like a grater on cheese. She looked at her hand, now covered in blood, and looked around. Bodies were everywhere, men in varying colors and allegiances lay in pools of blood._

_She followed them up to her feet, where she gasped in shock and stepped back into the weirwood tree. At her feet lay the royal family, the usurpers, and their daughter. The pool of blood around them coated the baby's wrappings in a deep red stain and the bodies of her parents, sporting slit throats, the mother holding her child even in death._

_Horrified, she looked around wildly for help when she saw the boy standing behind the first line of bodies. She took a step toward him and the ground cracked beneath her feet, splitting open like a hazelnut under a hammer._

" _Help! Help me!"_

_She screamed at the boy, who only cocked his head to the side and looked at the ground below her, the cracked earth forming a skull beneath her feet._

" _This is your future Rhaenys of House Targaryen. The death of your only remaining family, and the destruction of yourself. Perhaps you should change course?"_

She bolted upright, her eyes casting wildly about the room that was brightened by the sun's rays. Beside her stood a frightened Nilvaine, who'd apparently shaken her awake.

"Majesty! Are you alright?"

"W-What?"

She sat up quickly, hoping to see the boy in her dreams once more. Finding nothing, she ran a hand through her hair, groaning.

"I'm alright Nilvaine… I just had a bad nightmare."

"Wanna talk about it?"

She recounted her dreams to Nilvaine, leaving nothing out, and grimaced at her look of awe on her face. Nilvaine took her hand excitedly, hoping to gather more details.

"It was a warg! You've been visited by a visionary!"

"A what? I understand Wargs but not visionaries…"

"Visionaries are very rare, they see visions and give them to people that it revolves around. You were visited by one, I'm sure of it!"

Chuckling, she allowed Nilvaine to grip her hand tighter, excitement waning as she looked at her sadly.

"He foretold my death Nilvaine, he said I was on the wrong path…"

"Then change the path." Rhaenys looked at Nilvaine in shock, absolutely dumbfounded at her candor. Remembering her words, she did not say anything for some time.

"How… How do I change my path?"

"By changing your decisions, you don't need to do everything you're told by Illyrio. You can make any decision you want, because you are in control, not him."

Silent, Rhaenys walked to the window of the ancient castle. Looking outside as more troops landed… the last of her army ashore. At her command. "For years, Nilvaine. For a time seemingly endless I was raised alone… in hells on earth by people that saw me only as a way to earn their coin. Keep her alive and reasonably healthy, but otherwise nothing." Did Illyrio… or his late paymaster Varys know? She once genuinely believed they didn't and still held that belief, but it was wavering. "But Daenerys knew of me. She had to, her spies were everywhere. Varys was in her council, after all." Rhaenys wanted to be angry, but only sorrow left her. "She proclaimed herself the Breaker of Chains, but couldn't find it in her to break the chains of her own niece."

Seeing her Queen breaking apart, Nilvaine walked to her. "I'm sure if she knew…"

Rhaenys shook her head, steeling herself. "Daenerys burned King's Landing to kill her rival. She crucified a hundred Great Masters simply to cow the populace. She had Astapor burned to the ground with the Unsullied to rally the slaves to her cause… and that's not even counting what her husband – my brother – did as well. They were willing to let me suffer so that my claim could never be used against them." _They had to have known._ She straightened herself. "I truly wish what would have been, for my father and mother to live so we could have all been a truly happy family, but I cannot deny reality. They do not deserve to triumph, the Iron Throne is mine."

The freedwoman bowed. "I am at your service, your Grace." _I don't believe her._ The two couldn't have known… There were many well-kept secrets of House Martell, ones of plots so intricate that only the death of Prince Doran by the Sand Snakes saw an end to them. _If Varys could keep those as secrets, then he could have done so with Rhaenys._

But proving it would not be easy.

Her Queen was determined and steadfast – she would march, and if Rhaenys was served well by such a fight, Nilvaine would journey with her into the gates of the seven hells. She was the only person to show her any kindness after all. But something in her, the same sense needed to be developed when in Princess Mellario's service, told Nilvaine that Rhaenys wasn't being well served by this. That there was something ulterior going on.

But there was no stopping the war. Nilvaine could only hope she could find out the truth before the dragons ripped each other apart.

* * *

Crumpling the dispatch in his clenched fist, Jon threw the paper at no one in particular – Grey Worm and Lord Baelor Hightower both dodged it – and rubbed at his temples. "Seven fucking hells…" he muttered.

Daenerys felt that she'd soon be joining in his anger, but at the moment was concerned. "Jon?"

"Houses Errol and Penrose bent the knee with Rhaenys."

Her eyes darkened. "Is that so?"

"Aye, that is." Jon looked hard at Gendry, who gulped. "Were you aware of this, Lord Baratheon?"

"Are you accusing him of treason?" Arya shot back, hand defiantly squeezing that of her lover. "Well, Jon?"

"Goodsister, that is enough," Daenerys said evenly. "Lord Gendry, while my husband may be paranoid, he has good reason to be. Are there any Stormlords that would choose the side of my niece and Jon Connington to avenge Robert the Usurper?" That had been the official reason for their defection, but fear and greed were more likely reasons.

He steeled himself. "The men I have with me are loyal, your Grace. They remember Lord Dondarrion fighting and dying in the Long Night, and if he found you honorable monarchs then they do as well. There should be no more traitors."

Jon scowled, but nodded. "Good." He gestured to the table. "Commander Naharis. Tell me of the enemy movements."

While things were still tense between him and Daario over the issue of the Queen, the former sellsword kept it to himself. If he knew Daenerys, she wouldn't take kindly to him trying to muscle his way. _Let her tire of this Northern upstart, and she'll call for me again._ "The usurper's forces have landed at Stonedance and secured Massey's Hook. It is a straight march to King's Landing along the Wendwater Road, and from the skirmishes between their scouts and my Second Sons, I believe that's where they're headed."

"An exact ape of the Fourth Blackfyre Rebellion," said Yohn Royce. "As it ended with Aegor Rivers, so too shall it end for the usurper Rhaenys."

"Don't be overconfident, Lord Royce," Jon warned. "They have a far superior force than the Blackfyres did, and unlike then we are outnumbered."

"We have dragons," Grey Worm said. "We burn enemy army."

"Cersei Lannister and Euron Greyjoy injured Rhaegal quite grievously with scorpions." Daenerys felt a fire inside her at the remembrance of that day, remembering her anger and fear. She hadn't had Jon to comfort her then. "Illyrio is smart. He'd be ready to try and neutralize that advantage, so we'll need to be cautious."

"Send me in, your Grace." Daario smiled at her, enjoying the scowl on the King's face. "I and the Second Sons will harass and bushwhack them until they are a disorganized mess for you to strike."

She knew what he was trying to do. Smiling sweetly, Daenerys blinked. "Commander Naharis, my husband and King is the Commander of the Crown's Armies. Speak to him, not me."

Jon stifled a chuckle. "The land east of the Wendwater are scattered woods and fields – not conducive to a partisan campaign." He pointed to Wendwater Bridge. "We try to stop them here. Excellent defensive positions, to which they will drench the river in their blood if they try to force their way across. If, somehow, they beat us, then you have my permission to bushwhack them through the entire Kingswood, understood?"

"Understood, your Grace," Daario replied, a hint of irritation in his voice.

Nodding, Daenerys looked at her war council. "Alright, we're dismissed for the night. On the morrow we march for Wendwater Bridge." With bows, the council began their exit. She gazed at the map, only for Jon to lightly grab her arm. "Jon…?"

"To our tent," he whispered harshly in her ear. "I don't like the idea of sharing you."

She shuddered. "And what will you do?"

His smirk was wolfish. "Many things."

Daenerys sighed softly, enjoying the sensations her husband was giving her as he traced designs down her bare body. She loved the tickling, shiver-inducing way he toyed with her. Her eyes were lidded with pleasure, and yet they hadn't even begun making love. Moving onto her back, she pulled Jon down to her, kissing him softly but firmly. He of course reciprocated, and before long he was atop her, gently removing any notion or thought that didn't involve him inside her. Forgotten was their war, their long-lost relative, even their daughter was forgotten for a moment.

" _Jon…. Don't stop."_

Her moaning demand was met with a grin, and his pace slowed to a lazy rhythm, enjoying the longevity of their desire. His thrusts were deep… ones that made them both moan, only for Jon to crash their lips together and swallow the sounds they made. "I love you," he murmured into her mouth.

She swore she saw stars as he brought her to the edge. "I love you too… gods, I love you so much." Eyes opening, they stared at each other as they tumbled into their climax. _Love comes in at the eyes._

No truer words spoken.

They stayed that way for most of the night, enjoying multiple couplings. When the sun came up, they laid still in each other's arms, unwilling to face the morning rays.

Across the tent from their bed, Aeryssa began to cry. Slowly Daenerys allowed herself to remove his body from hers, kissing his still-dozing cheek. She stood and picked up the baby from her bassinet, rocking her in the security of her mother's arms.

" _Sȳz ñāqes ñuha jorrāelagon."_

She bounced the baby in her arms, smiling as she gurgled happily at her, enjoying the calm morning. It was only quiet for a moment or two. Standing outside the tent, awaiting her, was Davos. He looked at her with pity after she'd dressed appropriately, and handed her a ravenscroll.

_Goodsister,_

_I fear to write this to you, but I cannot in good consciousness keep it from you. I've spoken to the woman naming herself as Rhaenys in her dreams, and I write this to inform you that she will be marching from Massey's Hook and not stop till she reaches the capitol. You and your child are in grave danger, be forewarned, she knows of me and my gift._

_She has seen triumphs and failure through me, but she has yet to make a decision. She is not alone. Her armies outweigh yours, but she is not wise enough to use them effectively. You have the advantage, do not be afraid to use it._

_I shall try to make sure she decides truly, but I cannot make any promises._

_Bran_

Daenerys looked over the scroll, again and again, silently fuming that Bran had let his riddle-laced language be transferred to ink. What advantage, what dreams?

And what decision has Rhaenys not yet made?

* * *

_Translations:_

_"Good Morning my love!" -_ " _Sȳz ñāqes ñuha jorrāelagon."_


	15. Wendwater Bridge

Sansa had never felt so… girly. She stared at the Winter blossoms, feeling very out of place and very embarrassed. The maid before her saw this, and inwardly chuckled. It seemed the Ice Queen inside her could be thawed… Maybe permanently?

“My lady? Are you ill?”

Blush scorched across her face, and she found herself staring at the flowers once again. What on earth was wrong with her? They were just flowers! And yet she found herself acting as if the mere thought of a lord giving her flowers was some dirty act of courtship, like he’d presented her with a betrothal ring after meeting her only once.

“No Hulda… I’m not ill. Just…” She shut her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Just get rid of t-those flowers.”

“Are you sure my lady?” The maid bit back a smile of knowing. “The lord seemed adamant you get them. Twould be a shame to waste such lovely petals.”

She turned away, intent on leaving the pale blossoms to her maid’s devices, knowing that the petals would be divided up between maids and used to make perfumes. She did admit that it would be a waste, but her heart sang tunes her mind refused to recognize. So long ago, Joffrey had given her presents and sweet nothings of affection – even Ramsay had left her trinkets after he was done using her, a sick game to humiliate and beat her down, and now presents were seen as an attempt of ownership.

She would never be owned again, she decided firmly.

“Just get rid of them.”

A curtsey. “Of course, mi’Lady.” Still turned around and gazing out the window at the white landscape, snows much less heavy than prior to the victory over the dead, Sansa heard the door close, leaving her alone. A deep exhale, as if purging a weight off her shoulders. _Why should I be concerned? I vowed to never allow myself in such a situation again._ Never would she be abused or ruled over. Even accepting the Dragon Queen as her sovereign hadn’t shaken such a resolve. _Daenerys was brutalized as I was… she understands._

But this man… This, Lord Hornwood, was making her feel young and childish with desire once more. A bastard legitimized, someone her mother would have snubbed at every opportunity… but a man brave in battle and seemingly true of heart unlike Joffrey or Ramsay. She _wanted_ his attention, deep down. She craved it like a drunkard craved his unending desire of liquid euphoria, and yet the very idea of being loved made her squeamish.

 _Stop being naïve._ The true affection Jon and Daenerys had, that Arya and Gendry had, it would never be her lot. Groaning, she walked to the table beside her window, and then went white.

He stood in the courtyard, watching her maid dispose of his flowers, with his head hung low. He turned away, seeming to leave before something in him strengthened, and he walked into the keep with sudden purpose. Panicking, she walked over to the mirror on her room, straightening her dress and making sure she looked more than presentable, before sitting casually in the chair at her table. Just as she’d thought, footsteps pounded up the stairs, and she swallowed the lump that rose unbiddingly in her throat.

Why was she wanting to cry? They were just flowers! Stupid, silly flowers meant for her by a man, a _man_. She wanted to be with men as much as Arya wanted to be a Lady of the Court! The footsteps slowed but did not stop, and suddenly he threw open her door like a man possessed with a thousand demons of legend.

“Sansa I-!”

He stopped, seeing her absolutely terrified expression, and swallowed the rest of his words. Larence Hornwood bit his lip, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

“I-I…”

“My Lady.” Two guards arrived, hands on their swords. “Begone from Lady Stark.” They moved to seize Lord Hornwood.

They stilled as Sansa held up a hand. “Thank you for your diligence, but I would like to speak with Lord Hornwood.” The two guards bowed and departed, leaving her to shift her gaze to the unbidden visitor. “Yes?”

Her tentative voice broke him, and he looked at her with a soft, gentle smile. “I wanted to make sure you liked the flowers… the maid… She was throwing them away.”

She bowed her head, shame creeping into her features, and then quietly admitted, “I asked her to… I don’t like gifts when it comes to a man attempting to court me.”

He paused, searching her face before understanding washed the confusion from his face. “You’ve been abused… That's why you can’t stand gifts.” Shock filled her, and she allowed herself to covertly look at him under her lashes. He was tall, taller than Ramsay, and with better features, his jaw was well-defined and his complexion was clearer than most men at his age. Perhaps in his late twenties? She slowly found herself looking at him without cover or shame, and was beginning to admire his looks. His words brought her back to herself, and she shoved her walls up once again, desperate to keep what was left of her heart shielded.

“I don’t know what you mean my lord, I simply don’t like gifts.”

Her words felt like ice chips in her mouth, cold and unfeeling. She bit back another series of words that would keep him from feeling attacked, mentally reassuring herself that he didn’t need her words to be sugar-coated.

“I see… Then I shall be careful to give you no gifts from now on, I’ll simply use my good looks and my wit. Until then, Lady Sansa.”

Leaving her utterly bewildered, he made his exit quickly, and left her sitting in her chair white as a ghost and utterly terrified of her now uncertain future. Shivering from a sudden chill, she bolted upright. Sansa’s heart was a torrent, and she needed to be grounded.

There was one place where she could do that.

The Godswood was half-melted. Hot Springs always keeping it warmer than the surrounding countryside, the banishment of the Long Night brought the humid warmth that dwelled in the most sacred place between the wall and the God’s Eye. While avoiding the patches of mud, Sansa loved it. The south brought her nothing but brutality and betrayal. The only happiness she ever knew was from her home, and this was the greatest representation of it. _You warned us, father, and I now listen._

Intent on praying before the weirwood, to Sansa’s surprise she wasn’t alone. “Bran? Lady Meera?”

“He’s… seeing,” the slender heir to Greywater Watch replied. Bran’s eyes were white, proving her words. “He said there is something in the south that worries him.”

“The Usurper’s War?” Sansa asked.

“I believe so.”

It was then that Bran’s eyes returned, the greenseer’s chest lurching over, sucking in gasping breaths. “Bran.” Sansa rushed to him as Meera rubbed his back. “What happened?”

“Jon… Daenerys… they meet Rhaenys in battle.” A single tear fell down his cheek. “I failed.”

Bloodwyng perched on her shoulder, Rhaenys peered at the battlefield before her. “The fog is lifting, your Grace,” said Jon Connington, the red griffin banner flying proudly for a Targaryen monarch once again.

“Aye, and they march for battle positions.” She needed not a spyglass to witness this. The lush forest of the Wendwater mouth gave way to scattered scrubland and copses of trees nearer to the river itself. Normally herds of cattle or wild auroch would be quenching their thirst at the water’s edge, but not today. Tens of thousands of Targaryen soldiers of both sides of this particular civil war marched in formation, readying to attack if on the east bank or defend if on the west. “The fate of an entire continent will be decided this day.” Bloodwyng screeched as two loud roars echoed from the forest beyond. “Are the special weapons ready?”

Connington nodded. “The Yi Ti mercenaries assure me of this, your Grace. They shall work wonders.”

“They better, for your sake, Lord Connington.” She sighed, glaive slung over her back and Valyrian-style scaled armor – a feminized version of her father’s – strapped tightly. “To your positions, then. Full attack.”

“Yes, your Grace.” At Connington’s signal, the heralds trumpeted orders through stucco blasts of their horns. The Commander of the Queen’s Army galloped towards his own command, while the Queen galloped towards hers. How could she lead her men if she wouldn’t fight for them?

Four miles away, atop the towers of Sweetport Sound keep – the seat of House Sunglass – Jon and Daenerys heard the faint hornblasts. “So it begins,” Jon sighed.

Daenerys clenched her fists, long having wished it weren’t to come to this. “You don’t have to follow through,” she told him.

“I must.”

“You have a daughter… don’t be a thick-headed fool.” She had already witnessed a sibling’s death for his own folly – Viserys had been a monster in his last years, but that didn’t mean his story wasn’t a tragedy. Rhaenys’ story was an even greater tragedy, and Dany couldn’t allow her beloved to endure the same torment as she did. Not after Rickon… or Robb… “Please…”

But Jon was stubborn. A true warrior King, for good or for ill. “They have something in mind for the dragons, I know it. Rhaegal will remain in reserve while you provide support with Drogon. I hold the line with the men.”

“You are a northern fool,” she shook her head sadly… but was pulled into a kiss.

He gazed into her eyes. “I am a King… a King who intends to return to his Queen.” She kissed him again, desperately. A melding of teeth and tongue as if it were the last kiss they would ever share. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Wordlessly, they walked to where Drogon rested and mounted him together. _“Soves.”_

This was a land that was no stranger to the clash of armies great and small. Anchored by the might of the Wendwater River as it emptied the spring waters of the Kingswood hill country, tall forests and alluvial plains of prime farmland made these lands valuable to House Targaryen – feeding King’s Landing until the population forced the crown to seek the goodwill of the Lords of Harrenhal and Highgarden. And with the anchor of Dragonstone, Claw Isle, and Driftmark protecting the water approaches to King’s Landing, the road that ran from Stonedance to the capitol was one prized by invading armies for centuries.

Halleck Hoare used his superiority on the sea to defeat the Durrandon Storm Kings and take the lands of Blackwater Bay for the Ironborn.

The loyalty of the Wendwater Lords allowed Rhaenyra Targaryen unimpeded access to King’s Landing and the temporary victories during the Dance.

Most spectacularly, Aegor Rivers launched his final invasion of Westeros to place his great-nephew Daemon III Blackfyre upon the Iron Throne. Thousands died upon the reaches of the stone and wood bridge three wagonwidths wide built by Daeron II Targaryen, and now the competing armies of the different lines of Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen gathered to fight each other in the newly christened Second Dance of Dragons.

Thousands gave prayer to whatever gods they believed in, expecting much blood to be spilled.

The forces of the Dragonwolf and Mother of Dragons was outnumbered, but standing on the excellent defensive ground of the shallow hills of the west bank negated such problems. Jon and Daario placed their most elite forces – the heavily armed Stormlords and Valemen on their right, guarding a series of shallow fords that any mounted force could charge their way across, with the Reach cavalry of Lord Oakheart in reserve. Guarding the left were the Valemen, caution predominating even though the waters were deep there. And in the center held the Unsullied and whatever northmen and wildlings followed the King into battle directly. In reserve were the Dothraki, ready to patch up any holes in the lines.

Galloping across the bridge, Daario Naharis approached the Armies of the Black Queen, as the raven-haired Queen Rhaenys was quickly being dubbed. Three soldiers of the Second Sons guarded him – as well as one who wore a cowl masking his face – but they kept their hands far from their sheathed scimitars as they reached the Black Queen herself, surrounded by various Dornish Lords in their finery. Nowhere near the chivalrous Westerosi knight that inspired so many songs of battle, Daario openly flashed his blade with a hilt shaped as a nude woman, delighting in challenging the convention. “Princess Rhaenys… Lords of Dorne.”

“What do you want, bastard?” asked Lord Gerold “The Darkstar” Dayne of High Hermatige, one of the most prominent lords that lobbied Arianne Martell to declare for Rhaenys. “What does the Dragon Whore and Bastard King seek?”

“They wish to present terms, of increased lands and incomes to whomever chooses to fight for them over the usurper.” Daario personally thought it a waste of time, but Daenerys’ orders were her orders.

Ser Daemon Sand, universally rumored as Princess Arianne’s lover and closest confidant, snorted. “And what would their Graces offer for our Queen?” The blood of Elia Martell would never be disrespected while a single Dornishman took a breath.

Daario grinned. “Perhaps a ten foot high pile of wood?” The implication was witty but obvious. “It would be less for any other, but dragons are harder to burn." The Second Sons’ chuckled, while the hooded man merely tilted his head at Daario, tensing.

The Dornish were like coiled vipers ready to attack, but Rhaenys merely narrowed her eyes. “If The usurpers wish to threaten me, then they can do it themselves. Begone.”

“I’ll be killing you first,” Daario boasted, turning his mount and galloping back to the bridge.

Watching them ride away, Rhaenys spat on the ground. “Who was that cunt?” she asked Ser Daemon, who had been part of a Dornish host that fought Cersei Lannister in the final battle against the Golden Company.

“Him, I know none of… except perhaps a sellsword commander that the Dragon Queen took as a lover in Meereen.”

“Spreads her legs for all the bastards of the world,” grumbled Gerold.

Rhaenys cut him off with a raised hand and a glare. “And the hooded man? He carried himself as a highborn.”

Daemon grinned. “That, your Grace, was Jon Snow.” Surprise caught everyone’s gaze, even Rhaenys’. “White wolf on the pommel of his blade. The sword of the King.”

As soon as they passed the bridge and dismounted their horses, Jon slammed his fist into Daario’s jaw. “Don’t fucking do that again!”

Surrounded by wildlings and Unsullied, Daario knew that he’d be a dead man if he even raised a hand at he King. “She is your enemy. You should act like it… your Grace,” he added.

“The day I become a kinslayer is the day that I kill myself before I harm my blood.” He looked to Tormund, hefting a massive axe with a twin head. “Tormund, you’ll have the vanguard with me.” A slight on Daario, denying him the glory of holding the bridge itself.

Tormund clasped his chest. “Just like old times, Kingdragon.”

Only minutes passed before the massed columns of the Army of the Black Dragon marched into position. The compact formations of the Dornish spears advanced on the bridge, while Jon Connington led the heavy horse of the defected Stormlords and Black Guardsmen towards the fords. Light infantry among the sellswords held the north, demonstrating against the Vale with mere taunts, insults, and the occasional archery skirmish. “For the Queen!” bellowed Gerold Dayne, the Martell sun and spear flying as pervasively as the Targaryen three-headed dragon.

“FOR THE QUEEN!”

For all the Dornish posturing, among the flurry of arrows flying around from the archers of both sides it was Connington that drew first blood. The Wendwater wasn’t particularly quick flowing, and the weak current and sandy bottom allowed the charging horse and accompanying Black Guardsmen to quickly slam against the schiltrons of the Reach and Stormland positions. Horses and men screamed as pikes ran them through, while men flew back with gashed and broken bodies from the lances of the attacking heavy cavalry. Armed with crossbows at the van for direct fire support, the Black Guardsmen – Volantis’ best soldiers – savaged the plate-armored men-at-arms just as the black-clad warriors crashed into them.

“Hold the line!” bellowed Lord Gendry Baratheon, swinging his warhammer with an antlered helm adorning his head. He gave ground a few steps, allowing the snarling black guardsmen charging at him to stumble over the muddy bank. The spike upon the back of the warhammer pierced the armor of his helm, killing him instantly, while Gendry swung around and bashed the second attacker with the full might of the head.

He looked to be Robert Baratheon reborn, rallying the Stormlords.

Snarling, Commander Arya Stark was a bright target in her Targaryen armor, but Needle and Catspaw were caked in the blood of those that opposed her. “Hold the fucking line!” Needle pierced the neck of a Black Guardsman, hitting the small but vulnerable gap between his helm and breastplate. _That’s threadin’ the fuckin’ needle, Sansa!_ Archers savaging those fording the Wendwater, the southern front quickly bogged down into a stalemate.

Jon reasoned himself lucky. While the quick arrival of the Dornish spears caught his commanders by surprise, the hope that the Black Army could advance by using their advantage in numbers was blocked by the need to pass through the choke-point presented by the bridge itself. Himself leading the northmen and wildlings that moved south with him as his personal guards, the attacking Dornish led by Darkstar met a veritable phalanx of spears, shields, and axes hacking and stabbing at their mail armor draped with the mustard-dyed surcoats.

The Dragonwolf himself was a tempting target for the Dornish of half-a-dozen banners, all of them eager to win favor by bringing Queen Rhaenys his head. But Aegon VI Targaryen was no maiden to be defiled. Clad in the scale armor of his own father, preserved by the castellan of Dragonstone, he swung Longclaw with the fury of a true warrior King. A spearman came for him, but he hacked off the tip and spun around, stabbing the man through the stomach. Kicking another attacker in the chest, he parried a scimitar and slashed across the chest. Helmless, his raven hair soon grew matted with blood and his eyes wild with fury.

Sensing a current of fear passing through his men, Darkstar leapt into the fray. Directly engaging with the Dragonking, Longclaw meeting with the mighty Dawn – the ancestral longsword of the Sword of the Morning that Gerold had taken specifically for this campaign… not that he would ever give it back.

Three paces to the right of the King, a giant wildling axeman with hair kissed by fire blocked the narrow crossing. While others fought among him, Tormund and Jon seemed to both sides to single-handedly hold up the entire Dornish attack. Missing an ear and wearing furs – though he acceded to mail underneath at Jon’s insistence – Tormund looked a demon from the gates of the Seven Hells. Scimitars cut through the furs but bounced off the thick mail, making him look invincible as he hacked off limbs and pulverized heads into pulp with his mighty axe. Forty, fifty bodies carpeted the ground while dozens more fell into the river, painting it red with blood.

They slowly gave ground, but made the Dornish pay for every inch.

Rhaenys watched this with a barely-disguised fury. “Break them!” she ordered Daemon Sand, commander of the Dornish reserve. Gerold had obviously failed in his dogged pursuit of glory, so it was the bastard of Godsgrace’s turn. But Daemon was smarter. Running to the bank, he had troops provide a swim bladder stockpiled for other reasons for Connington, a cow-hide filled with air. Holding a spear, he leapt into the water and floated under the bridge

“Fuck you!” Tormund bellowed, swinging again. A Dornishman fell, entire side basically hacked off. “Who else fuckin’ wants some?!” Maybe the big woman would finally stop mooning over the dead Kingkiller after his glory upon the bridge.

But his boasts ended as Daemon Sand thrust his spear through the planks in the bridge. Tormund screamed in pain, his leg buckling and the axe toppling to the ground.

“Tormund!” With almost superhuman strength, Jon punched the Darkstar in the chest, staggering him back and allowing the King to fight his way to where the wildling collapsed. “Stay with me, fall back!” he ordered, seeing the Dornish charge once more. He knew they’d break through.

“My axe.” Tormund coughed, but his arms thrashed around. “Fight the fuckers.

“Get him to the rear!” Jon ordered, other Free Folk grabbing their comrade and trying to staunch the bleeding as they carried him out of the fight – the infamous chieftain snarling curses at everyone in sight. Jon killed another attacker, parrying three furious blows before a swing beheaded the knight with the Martell sigil on his gorget, but it was a fighting withdrawal.

With Tormund out of the fight, there was no holding the bridge.

But their efforts weren’t for naught. Jon and Tormund allowed the bulk of the Unsullied to form a shieldwall in a tight semicircle around the bridge, hoping to lure enough Dornishmen into a pocket and slaughter them. Darkstar, joined by a soaking wet Daemon Sand, met them head on and poured across the bridge. But the latter – the credit for taking out the demon axeman already spreading like wildfire – managed to assume command and caution restraint. Instead of charging head on, the men of houses Dayne, Allyrion, Yronwood, Uller, and Martell formed their own shieldwall and attacked all at once.

Roars made each and every man of the Black Army flinch and cringe. Diving from the sky, the Dragon Queen made her entrance. Drogon – Balerion the Black Dread Reborn – flew overhead in a clear demonstration of the beast that single-handedly gutted King’s Landing. Rhaegal, the green beast that tangled with the Night King himself, landed behind, allowing the bloodied Jon to mount him. _Kepa… you’re hurt._

 _Not my blood… well, not most of it._ Rhaegal snorted at the dark quip, but beat his wings – taking to the air.

Jon Connington, coordinating the attacks from the east bank, looked and saw the black dragon unleash a torrent of dragonfire upon the rear of the Dornish force. Gods, what a sight it was. _If my Silver Prince had one, we’d have been unstoppable._ Watching Daenerys Targaryen break off and the Stark Bastard begin to savage the Black Guardsmen, Connington heard the rumble and warcries of the Dothraki charging right to him. He needed to act fast.

“Unleash the ballistae!” he commanded. “Send in the rear!” Two different sets of hornblows pierced the din, signalling his secret weapons.

Just as Daenerys dove in for another attack run, hidden amongst the trees and bushes were the Black Army’s siege engines. Ballistae and scorpions abounded, light and mobile rather than the cumbersome monsters Cersei Lannister thought would bring her victory, but something else entirely. Drogon let out a roar just as they fired, belching clouds of black smoke and orange-yellow flame shooting right at him.

Connington had been across the world, and from among the exotic empire of the Yi Ti did he find something – fire-ballistae, tubes that unleashed the concentrated power of flame to unleash hells on men and fortification alike.

As one ball of iron slammed against Drogon’s underside, it worked on dragons as well.

Daenerys felt the pain of her beloved child, screaming just as Drogon screeched. The projectile didn’t penetrate his scales, but ribs were clearly broken and his flying grew labored. _Soves! Soves!_ She screamed the orders, projectiles joined in the air by the ever familiar bolts.

And from the Targaryen right, Connington’s other surprise came barreling at them. Every single one of the Black Army’s elephants, trumpeting their zeal as they forded the river. Black Guardsmen parted ways so they could advance unmolested, tusks and sheer bulk crushing the schiltrons and forcing the Stormlanders and Reachmen back.

Watching this, feeling the same pain for Drogon as Daenerys did, Jon angled Rhaegal for one more attack. Bolts pierced his scales, balls crashing into his side with intense pain, but still they kept going. _Dracarys!_

Awash with dragonfire, a hundred Dornish spears screaming as the flames covered their bodies, the infamous Wendwater bridge collapsed into the river itself. The fire-ballistas had enough of a range to cover the western bank, but seven thousand spears were trapped right against the river itself. Gendry and Lord Baelor were in headlong retreat, and the Black Guardsmen were reforming to slam into the Unsullied flank dragon or no dragon. While Daenerys and now Jon rode high above the battlefield, a waiting menace to any mass assault against their forces, Grey Worm gave the final command for a fighting withdrawal. Connington let them.

Bloodied corpses carpeted the ground, the spirit of Aegor Bittersteel had ultimately been avenged. The army challenging the Iron Throne had triumphed at Wendwater bridge, threatening the collapse of the incumbent Targaryen dynasty.

Rhaenys has never felt so jubilant, her victory over the Usurpers proving her claim to the throne. She was the true Queen, she knew this, felt it in her soul, but something else inside her whispered disdain for her benefactor Illyrio. Something within her begged her to stop, to put aside Illyrio and think for herself. She often thought that he was using her, that there was some other excuse for him goading her onto this fight. Bloodwyng laid peacefully beside her on her bed, napping. She laid back gently, feeling the weight of her heart lessen as she smiled upon the sleeping form of her beloved dragon. She passed into a deep sleep rather quickly, too quickly.

_Laughter, childish giggles. The sounds of footfalls echoed in the halls of a keep she remembered vividly. Perhaps a hallway she remembered more than a keep… “Princess! Where are you?” More giggles, and a tiny hand reached for a door she remembers to be her own, only for a hand to reach out and snatch her away from the door. “There you are! No opening the doors to the west wing, child. Remember your rules.” Illyrio? A flash of a face appeared to her, and she knew immediately that the face belonged to her advisor, and the young child in his arms sported white hair and blue-violet eyes._

Eyes snapped open and her breath hitched, the memory that she knew somehow wasn’t hers searing into her mind. What, or who was sending her these dreams? What rules? She groaned, flopping back onto her bed and staring at the canopy above her. She looked over at Bloodwyng, who stared at her calmly with whirling green eyes. The little dragon let out a gentle purr of concern, causing her to smile. She stroked her scales lovingly, the dream forgotten if only for a moment. “Whatever would I do without you, little one?” She smiled once more, and stood, only to clutch her head as another vision plagued her.

_“Daenerys!” The voice was high-pitched and unfamiliar. A man appeared before her, his face one she didn’t recognize and his eyes so violet they shone. He walked through her, causing her to turn and watch as he removed the gown Daenerys was wearing, touching her. The woman before her shivered in disgust but made no move to stop him. “You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”_

She bolted back to herself and suppressed a sob. Rhaenys felt dirty, disgusting even. Something was wrong, things didn’t add up when she considered them with an open mind. Someone was lying to her, and she was going to discover who it was… even if it killed her.


End file.
